


Determination, Destination, Deliberation

by weaverofdreams45



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, F/M, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Not Epilogue Compliant, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2020-12-07 15:50:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 32
Words: 105,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20978447
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/weaverofdreams45/pseuds/weaverofdreams45
Summary: After Harry dies on a mission to capture the last few rogue death eaters, Hermione does the only thing she can with her grief – channels it into research.  On the eve of the sixth anniversary of Voldemort’s death, Hermione finally finishes her research – a timeturner with an unlimited span.  It will be a one-time trip, but if she times it right, one time will be all she needs.  Now stuck in the past with nothing but a story and a righteous sense of justice, Hermione finds more than she ever expected to.





	1. The Calm Before the Storm

**Author's Note:**

> This has been my passion project for a while now, and I'm really excited to be sharing it! I have read almost every time travel fic involving Hermione and I just wanted to get my own version out into the world. I was alpha'd by the wonderful rotehexe! Please feel free to leave reviews, I love reading them and they make my day!

Pulling the duvet closer to her face, Hermione fought against the pull of the living world. The warmth that wrapped around her was too comforting to give up, but the aroma of Harry’s famous cinnamon hotcakes enticed her to exit her blanket cocoon. Finally giving up on getting back to her dream, Hermione searched for her wand where she kept it under her pillow. 

Feeling the relieving touch of her magic, she wrapped her fingers around the vine wood handle and flicked it. Wordlessly, she summoned her dressing gown and traded the violet and yellow duvet for the scarlet fabric. The constant warming charm she had enchanted on her gown felt like a second skin as it wrapped around her. Pulling the belt and looping it around her, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and felt around for her slippers. 

Once Hermione felt satisfactorily protected from the morning chill, she wandered out of her room at Grimmauld Place and down towards the smell of breakfast. A muffled sound grew and expanded into _Don’t Stop Me Now_ by Queen, and Hermione smiled. Before even seeing them, she could picture them in her head. Harry with his messy hair (which somehow managed to get even messier in the mornings despite always looking atrocious) would be wearing the apron Ginny had gotten him the Christmas before. Hermione didn’t know why he insisted on wearing the awful thing, but Harry got a kick out of its ridiculous phrasing. 

Ginny, who would likely have her long red hair pulled up into a messy bun, would no doubt be dancing around the kitchen as Harry cooked. She loved the muggle radio that Hermione had hooked up during the summer and had discovered a love for 70s and 80s music. Hermione had to admit that she had been pleased to find Ginny loved Queen as much as she did. It had comforted her in the early months of her parent’s obliviation; making her feel closer to them.

Finally descending the last stair, Hermione turned towards the kitchen to find the scene almost exactly as she imagined it. Harry was holding a spatula in his hand like a microphone and sang the harmonies as Ginny - dressed in one of Harry’s old quidditch practice jerseys and a pair of shorts - danced around. There was no shame in their movements, and Hermione smiled as she took in this moment of unadulterated happiness from her friends.

It had been nearly two years since the fall of Voldemort. Harry, Ginny, Hermione, and Ron had all moved into Grimmauld Place after the war, citing a need for freedom and independence. They had fought in a war, and there was no way they could go back to being children, no matter how much Molly desired them to be her babies again.

Ginny had made Harry work for her forgiveness; after all, he had broken up with her for a terrible reason then made her think he was dead. Of course, she couldn’t hold that last bit against him since he did go on to defeat one of the most evil dark wizards to ever live. It was amazing what someone could get away with when they save the world. Hermione and Ron had tried for a relationship after the Battle of Hogwarts, but they soon realized that their love was contained within friendship. She loved her boys, that could not be questioned, but she was not in love with Ron.

“Oh...Morning ‘Mione!” Harry noticed her first, having the wherewithal to blush in embarrassment. She pulled her lips tight in an attempt to hide her smile, but the laughter that was bubbling in her chest overtook her. The dark-haired wizard was indeed wearing his apron, and Hermione could not contain her mirth at reading ‘Mr. Good Lookin’ is Cookin’.

“Good morning Harold.” The boy’s full name was not Harold, but Hermione had taken to calling him that whenever he felt it necessary to use that awful shortened version of her name. She’d long since given up on Ron, but she would not easily allow Harry to call her it. He winced at her name calling and shrugged under her challenging eyebrow tilt.

“Sorry.” He mumbled quietly, and Hermione rolled her eyes as he used those emerald green puppy dog eyes on her. Releasing the tension in her shoulders, she pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in exasperation. Ginny, who was still dancing as the last notes of the song faded away, wrapped her arms dramatically around Hermione.

“Harry’s making my favorites so there’s no being cross with him.” Ginny teased before taking a seat at the kitchen table. Her wand, which was tucked into the mess of her bun, was out in a flash and mugs pulled down from the cupboards and filled with hot water.

Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend before grabbing the tea tin from one of the cupboards as well and sitting down next to the witch. “If he insists on referring to me by that awful nickname then I will be cross with him.” Plucking a packet of earl grey from the tin, she watched as the clear water diffused with the swirling brown tint of the tea.

Loud steps on the stairs alerted them all to Ron’s presence, and Ginny looked to Hermione with an amused smile. Ron did not like waking up, and he often looked rather like a mountain troll before his morning cuppa. Flicking her own wand that was tucked away in the extended pocket of her dressing gown, Hermione summoned another mug and filled it with water before adding a boiling charm. She had just placed a ginger tea bag in the mug when Ron appeared in the doorway.

Misery was probably the closest expression Hermione could describe inhabiting Ron’s face, and she pushed the mug towards him without a word. Harry, who was finished with the first round of hotcakes, placed a plate in front of his groggy friend. Hermione and Ginny knew better than to argue with him. It would be safer for them all if the grumpy wizard ate first. Ignoring the sounds that Ron made as he shoved large forkfuls of his breakfast in his mouth, Hermione heard a telltale hoot as an owl appeared in the kitchen window with her Daily Prophet delivery.

“So what’s going on in the Wizarding World?” Harry asked, placing a plate and the prophet in front of her. He always served himself last, and Hermione always waited for him to start eating, so she pulled the twine off the newspaper and began to read. The front page was taken almost completely up by the engagement announcement of Draco Malfoy.

“Well I would tell you, but apparently the only thing that matters is Malfoy’s engagement. Get a load of this, ‘Reformed Death Eater finds love in the arms of Slytherin philanthropist’. I mean I can’t say that Astoria isn’t lovely, but it hardly requires the full front page.” Hermione was vaguely aware of the argument Harry, Ron and Ginny were having about Malfoy, but she just continued to read the news.

Below Malfoy’s engagement portrait, there was a brief article about escaped Death Eaters and a missing auror, and Hermione felt her heart clench. Ron and Harry had completed auror training over a year ago and had been out in the field ever since. She worried constantly about them, but that was hardly a new feeling; she’d been worrying about them for over a decade now. Glancing up at her friends, she watched with a overwhelming feeling of contentment as Harry launched a piece of hotcake at Ron’s face as their argument continued.

They were her family, and she didn’t know what she would do if anything ever happened to them. Hermione just had to trust that her friends were incredibly competent wizards and wouldn’t put themselves at unnecessary risk. As she was getting lost in her thoughts again, Ginny reached over and snagged the sports section. They had a running understanding that Hermione could have the ‘boring newsy bits’ of the Prophet and Ginny would take the sports pages which Hermione referred to as ‘a waste of ink and parchment’.

Ginny squealed as she shoved the sports page into Hermione’s face, and the curly-haired witch laughed boisterously as she caught sight of what Ginny wanted her to see. The middle page was filled with a large portrait of Ginny making a winning shot in the Harpies’ game against the Tornados. Hermione has never cared about Quidditch, but she had grown to appreciate just how much it meant to all of her friends. Harry leaned forward and planted a sweet kiss on Ginny’s cheek, insisting that he needed to cut out the picture and frame it.

“I just can’t wait for you to be more famous than I am. Just imagine it; a little first year comes up to us in Diagon asking me if I’m really dating Ginny Weasley.” Ron faux gagged at his friend and sister, but Hermione could see the joy in his eyes.

“Bold of you to assume we’ll still be dating. Maybe I’ll fall in love with some dashingly handsome foreign seeker.” Ginny teased, her lips pulling up in the corners into a smirk.

Harry pulled her chair closer to him and grabbed her hand. “It is bold that we’ll still dating because I mean to make you my wife one day witch.” Ginny gave up on her ruse of teasing Harry and gave him a kiss on the lips. They were about to move into a full out snog, but Hermione threw a tea bag at them, and they graciously stopped.

Ron stretched out then, seemingly content after consuming what Hermione could only describe as a disgusting quantity. There was a happy moment, and then suddenly everything changed.

The air shifted as Kingsley’s patronus swept into the kitchen. The lynx was in a defensive stance, and all the blood in Hermione’s body ran cold. In all the time that Harry and Ron had been active aurors, Kingsley had never sent a patronus for them. The last time she’d seen this patronus was during Bill and Fleur’s wedding and she began to panic.

“Dolohov and Rowle have been spotted. Be at my office in 10 minutes, we’re getting those bastards today.” Just as quickly as he had come, the light left. Pain filled Hermione’s chest as her breathing slowed and then stopped. Dolohov…she hadn’t heard that name in years. The line that crossed her chest seemed to burn as she remembered in vivid detail the demented look in his eyes as he had cursed her. He had meant for her to die, and he had very nearly succeeded.

Hermione was vaguely aware of a set of warm hands on her face, and voices around her. Ron’s was the first to come into focus, telling her to follow the rhythm of his breathing. Placing her hand on his chest, she felt the rise and fall and tried to inflate and deflate her own chest to match it. It was not her first panic attack, but it had been a long time since she had last had one. As her hearing began to return and her breathing steadied, the pain in her chest did not fade away.

“Dolohov…” The name spilled out over her lips like a potion boiling over. Ron and Harry shared a look of intense anger while Ginny gnawed on her lower lip. She had never quite learned how to deal with Hermione’s attacks, and had to watch helplessly as Ron pulled her out of it.

“We’ll get him ‘Mione.” Ron insisted. Hermione didn’t have the energy to chastise him for using the nickname she hated and instead nodding into his chest as he pulled her into a tight hug. Harry, who had already left the kitchen to get dressed, returned moments later. Ron reluctantly released Hermione, placing a kiss on her forehead.

“You don’t have to go. There are others.” Ginny’s words were both quiet and heartbreaking. Hermione’s tears were equally silent as she tried to hold back the phantom pain that was cutting into her. St. Mungo’s had healed her wound, but she could still feel the anger of his gaze.

“I have to Gin. You know I have to.” It was an argument they’d had before, and it was an argument they would no doubt have for the rest of their lives. Harry felt a need to protect others…he always had. He was the boy who lived after all. The Death Eaters were the last remaining followers of the man he’d destroyed, and he felt it was his personal responsibility to track them all down.

Ginny stood so quickly that the chair was thrown to the ground. Her arms wrapped tightly around his neck, and Hermione turned away from the intimate moment between them. It would never get easier for her to watch him go. Ron walked back into the kitchen with a more serious expression than Hermione had seen on him in a long time. They had been tracking death eaters for a while; ever since the Battle of Hogwarts.

Tracking them had been slow and arduous, but there were only a handful left in hiding. Especially after Draco Malfoy traded information to avoid Azkaban. Hermione took one heavy look at her small found family and wiped her eyes.

As Ginny pulled away from Harry, Hermione pulled Ron and Harry together, wrapping her delicate frame around their waists. She just had to trust in them and Kingsley. Dolohov and Rowle needed to be brought to justice and she was proud that they would play a part in bringing them in.

“Come back to me.” Ginny ordered Harry, wiping away the few tears that had managed to escape from her eyes.

“I always do.” Harry promised, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. It wasn’t a kiss goodbye, but a token of his promise.

“You too then.” Hermione warned, rising from her chair and pushing aside the pain in her chest. Ron and Harry had survived so much.

As the boys headed out the floo towards the ministry, Ginny reached for Hermione’s hand. Squeezing gently, she turned her sad eyes towards the curly-haired witch. “We can’t be sad. Its not like we’ll never see them again.”


	2. An Unexpected Portrait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is very busy editing her newest piece of legislation when she receives not one, but two unexpected visitors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I have been absolutely floored by the warm response to the first chapter and so I couldn't wait to post the second. I am planning on having a cushion of five chapters at any given time, so I will be posting chapter three whenever I'm done with chapter 7. Thank you all so much for reading and as always please comment and leave kudos! Also thanks to rotehexe for being my wonderful alpha

The study of Grimmauld Place had long been abandoned by the time that Hermione Granger took over control of it. Within a few weeks of her moving into the space, the bookshelves were overfilled and organized alphabetically by author’s last name. It may have looked like chaos to others, but Hermione drank in the smell of old parchment and leather book bindings. Light filtered in through the stained-glass windows that decorated the walls right near the seam of the ceiling. A giant globe that Hermione had discovered opened up into a secret bar (which she had not told the boys or Ginny about) stood at the center of the room.

Two comfortable armchairs faced the giant mahogany desk which Hermione currently sat behind. Photos, both magical and muggle, were neatly placed across the space, and her favorite set of colored inks that Ginny had gotten her for her 21st birthday. The feathered tip of her quill pulled up to her lips as she pondered over the wording of her new Lycanthrope Sanctuary Bill. 

She had spent almost a year in an unfulfilling position in the Department of the Regulation of Magical Creatures. Wasted a year more like. Kingsley and Harry had combined efforts to get her to change careers. She had been miserable, and there was an opening in the Department of Mysteries. It had taken a lot of convincing, but eventually she had made the switch, and she loved it. She now had the scientific research to prove that under the effects of wolfsbane werewolves were basically harmless if proper precautions are taken. Kingsley was co-signing her bill and she smiled as she thought of Remus and how proud he would be to have been the catalyst to make the world a better place for future generations of lycanthropes.

Ginny, who had been actively fighting her anxiety over Harry’s departure two days before, flitted in to inform Hermione that she was going to polish her broom. By Hermione’s calculations, it was probably the most well-kept broom in the entire world after these past few days.

“The Harpies have a game coming up against the Falcons and I’ll need to be in top shape. I’ll be upstairs for a while, so if you need me use a sonorous.” Hermione gave her a half-hearted grunt of acknowledgement, still stuck in her process. She didn’t even look up as Ginny left her once again on her own. The wording of the bill needed to be airtight to stand a chance against the still mostly pureblood Wizengamot. Even with the half-blood Lorsen Grimble being promoted to Chief Warlock, there was no denying that blood prejudice still thrived in places of power.

Half an hour and then an hour and then two passed before Hermione finally listened to the growing rumbling of her stomach and broke from her process. She had made some progress, but not nearly enough. If she wanted to get into the next session of the Wizengamot, she would need the legislation to be iron clad and on Kingsley desk by Monday.

Her increasing frustration began to manifest physically in her hair as she ran her fingers through it more and more. Soon her hair looked nearly as frizzy as it had when she first attended Hogwarts. A voice piped up behind her, and she jumped out the chair with her wand raised in a defensive stance.

“I always did say that you were too quick to go on the defensive.” Hermione gaped as the source of the noise came into view. Remus Lupin hung on the wall behind her head. “You…you have a portrait?” She stammered, moving hesitantly closer. His face was scarred and broken, evidence of too many full moons without wolfsbane in his eyes. It was a Remus Lupin she had regarded as a friend, and she was overwhelmed for a moment by the emotion of his appearance.

“Sirius insisted. Before the Department of Mysteries. He said that if…if one of us were to die then Harry would need this. He’d planned on one as well, don’t think he ever got the chance to finish sitting for it.” Portrait Lupin’s voice was sad, and Hermione began to cry as she looked him over. It had been nearly two years since she had last seen his face or heard his voice.

“Why? Why have you appeared now?” There was something in his eyes, something that looked suspiciously like guilt. Her eyes narrowed on him and she leaned against the wood of the desk, her wand still clutched tightly in her arm.

“Sirius had me painted for Harry, but I fear that it is you who will need me now.” Hermione moved her eyes from the painting around the room. Her quill sat near her parchment that was in the process of editing, ink bleeding through from all her revisions. Certainly, he couldn’t have shown up because she was having a bit of a rough time with legislative wording?

“Why would I…” Before Hermione could finish her question, the floo flamed to life. Expecting Harry and Ron to walk through, she fled from the study to the sitting room, leaving all thoughts of Lupin behind. When she arrived in the sitting room though, it was not Ron and Harry that she encountered. In fact, no one was there.

“Ms. Granger. I’ll need you to let me through.” The voice was familiar, albeit unexpected.

Gawain Robards was not a patient man, nor a pleasant man. Scarred and grumpy, he had fought tooth and nail against Voldemort’s takeover of the ministry and had spent the last year of the war in hiding after having killed a number of death eaters when they attempted to capture him. Kingsley had quickly promoted him to the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. The question Hermione now had a burning desire to ask; why the head of magical law enforcement was popping in her floo.

“Yes…yes of course. Come through.” Hermione waved her wand, adjusting the wards on the floo to allow him entrance. The fire grew large and turned green and then suddenly, a tall beefy man stood on the rug. He was in his ministry robes, and his neatly trimmed mustache singed slightly as he brushed off the soot and ash.

Removing his dark red bowler hat, Hermione realized quickly that this was not a social visit. His normally grumpy expression was replaced by something else. A mix perhaps of uncertainty and grief.

“Why…” Hermione’s voice cracked as she struggled to keep herself standing. She was bright; some people regarded her as the brightest witch of her age. She knew why he was here, but she didn’t want to be right. For once in her life, she prayed she was wrong.

“It’s best that you fetch Ms. Weasley.” He placed his hat on the nearby coat stand. Hermione just numbly nodded before heading towards the back of the house. There was a small courtyard behind the home that Ginny, Harry and Ron often used for the upkeep of their brooms. The smell of the broom polish hit her first and then the chill in the air.

“Gin…” Hermione’s voice was small, and she struggled to raise it. Eventually, she gave up altogether and walked up to the redhead. She was listening to music with Hermione’s Walkman (which had mysteriously gone missing a few weeks prior). Tapping the girl’s shoulder, Hermione wasn’t surprised when Ginny jumped and grabbed her wand.

“Bloody hell Hermione. Are you trying to end up in St. Mungo’s?” Pulling the headphones down from her head, she threw her polish rag on the small round table and frowned. The courtyard was a curated mix of grass and cobblestone with a sitting area in the middle. A small awning hung over the exit door, creating a little protection from the noon sun. 

“What do you need?” Ginny looked at her expectantly, but Hermione couldn’t bring herself to speak. Everytime she thought about the ministry official in the sitting room, her body began to shut down. Clearing her throat, she pushed through her worry and whispered.

“We have a visitor.” It was more ominous than Hermione had wanted, but the more details she gave, the more she had to think about the reason. The only reason why Robards would be in their home…well not her home…Harry’s home.

It was truly the only home he had ever known. She remembered the way his face had lit up the first morning they had spent in Grimmauld all together. Ron had tried to make breakfast and had nearly burnt the entire house down in the process. Ginny, of course, had enjoyed a hefty laugh at her brother’s expense before he began to chase her around the ground floor threatening to cast a cutting charm on her hair.

She and Harry had smirked at each other and righted the kitchen before instituting a no-Weasley rule on the cooking. Ever since then, it had been a tradition that Harry made breakfast and Hermione made dinner. They were a family, and it had given Hermione a new home.

Ginny looked irritated, but she put the cap back on her polish and laid her broom out to dry. Scourgifying the rag, she motioned for Hermione to lead the way. Every step that she took back towards where Robards stood felt heavy. Her entire body rejecting the information she knew was coming, but dreaded nonetheless.

“Mr. Robards?” Ginny wondered aloud, looking equally as confused as Hermione had when she had first realized who their visitor was.

“Yes. Ms. Weasley, Ms. Granger. I…well I would rather you sit.” Eyeing him and then sharing a look, Ginny and Hermione did as they were told. It was rare that Ginny would ever listen to a request like that, but something in the air made it clear that this was not a moment for jokes or banter.

“As you probably know, two days ago we received intelligence on the location of known death eaters Thorfinn Rowle and Antonin Dolohov…” Hermione tensed as Dolohov’s name permeated the air, and Ginny grabbed her hand. “We immediately formed a task force to take them in.” He took a deep breath, and his resolve seemed to shake. Something in the quirk of his lips and the downturn of his eyes gave away his devastation.

“Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley were a part of that task force. We gave chase. We were lead to an old manor home that used to belong to the Lestranges. It was easy…too easy. Once we had them cornered, the cowards cast fiendfyre. It caught so quickly…we were trapped. I feared we were all dead. Anti-disapparation wards had been placed…” Hermione watched as the carefully controlled man fell apart. Not in the way that most would; he was too hardened for that. This was not his first time losing people.

“They didn’t make it out did they?” Ginny, who had been suspiciously quiet, went stiff at Hermione’s question. Her brown eyes searching for answers in the man in front of them.

“That’s the thing Ms. Granger. They did. Ron and Harry managed to escape the flames. Weasley broke at least four ribs and he’s very badly burned.” Relief flooded Hermione’s chest, and the pressure that had been slowly building finally relented. Like a wave that had been building, it broke against the shore. They were okay.

“And Harry?” Ginny asked, tears threatening the edge of her eyes.

“Harry…he went back in. He refused to retreat when I ordered it. Longbottom was inside.” Robards hung his head, and all of the relief Hermione felt sucked back into her body as a crushing weight pressed in her chest. Ginny, who was now gripping Hermione’s hand like it was the only thing keeping her alive, gaped.

“What…What are you saying?” Hermione looked into Ginny’s eyes, and she knew. They both knew. They knew exactly what Mr. Robards was saying. But it couldn’t be true. It absolutely couldn’t be true.

“I’m sorry Ms. Weasley, but Harry Potter is dead.”


	3. The Worst Birthday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry Potter is dead, and Hermione Granger is left to pick up the pieces.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Everyone I have been so floored by the response to this story and I can't thank you all enough for reading it. As always, comments and kudos are super appreciated and make my day. Big thanks to rotehexe for serving as my alpha!

Hermione Granger did not deal with grief exceedingly well. Not that she hadn’t dealt with more than her fair share. She was very contrary to her normal self when grieving. Where her personality was normally filled with passion and fire, death made her numb. It was like the world was moving around her and she just stood in place. Time seemed to pass and she was present physically for the meetings…so many meetings. Harry had made a will before he died, and apparently, she was listed as the executrix. He had split his vaults between Ginny, Hermione, Ron and Teddy, but he had left Grimmauld Place and his cloak to Hermione.

It made sense, in some sick way, to leave the House of Black’s residence to Hermione. After all, the Weasleys had the Burrow. She had nothing, she’d had nothing since she had obliviated her parents and sent them off to Australia. After meeting with the Gringotts goblins, the ministry officials, identifying his body so Ginny wouldn’t have to…it had been a busy week, but Hermione had not been truly present at any of it.

It was Ginny’s idea to have two funerals; one for family and friends and one for the general public. News of his death had gone out in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet on September 19, 2000. It was Hermione’s 21st birthday. There had been no time to celebrate, and Hermione didn’t notice that her birthday had even come and gone until she began to prepare funeral cards. His public funeral was held on the grounds of Hogwarts, considering it was the only space big enough to manage so many people.

Over ten thousand wizards from across Europe had come to mourn the loss of the Boy Who Lived. Speeches were made by Kingsley, Robards, Molly, and finally by Hermione. She had chosen to represent his friends. If she did the painful bits, then maybe she could save her friends from some heart ache.

Ginny looked every bit a grieving widow, and the redhead was subdued and quiet as the week progressed. Hermione had never seen her like this in her entire life. Even when she’d gone to Hogwarts with Harry ahead of the battle and seen Ginny after a year of torture under the Carrows. She was shattered, like something delicate inside her had broken.

Kingsley’s speech was quietly political, making sure to laud Harry as a war hero, mentioning his work with the ministry. It was not the speech of a friend; which Kingsley was saving for the private ceremony. Robards’ was short and to the point, calling Harry a credit to his position and one of the finest duelists he’d ever seen. Molly…Molly broke down only a few sentences into her speech and had to be escorted from the stage by an equally aggrieved Arthur. They were mourning him the same way they had mourned Fred, and Hermione realized that they had emotionally adopted him long ago. 

Finally, when the murmurs from Molly’s breakdown quieted, Hermione took the stage. In the crowd of thousands, Hermione recognized many of the faces. In the distance, she could see Luna Lovegood’s blonde hair, standing next to Dean Thomas. As she scanned the crowd, she saw more and more people that Harry had known. Seamus, Parvati and Padma, Oliver, Katie, Angelina, Alicia…the list went on and on, and Hermione choked back a sob as she realized that Harry was the reason they were all here. Nearly every person they had gone to school with were there. Even Draco Malfoy (although he was trying to hide himself in the throng) had managed to come say goodbye to Harry Potter. Putting her wand against her neck, she cast a non-verbal sonorous and began to read her speech.

“Thank you all for coming here today. It is never easy to say goodbye to someone, especially to one as young as Harry Potter. You’ve heard today all about how brilliant Harry was as a war hero and as an auror, but not many people were privy to his absolute brilliance as a friend.” Taking a brief break to let out a shaky breath, Hermione continued. “He was self-less in a completely reckless way. He was quite literally born to save the world, but it was in infinite miniscule ways that he saved those around him every day…” She paused for a moment before continuing, refusing to break. “And it was that same selflessness that brings us here today. 

Her eyes were drawn to Ron in the crowd. He had insisted that he needed to be there, despite warnings from his healers that it might knock back his recovery. The left side of his body was raw and red, and his chest was wrapped in gauze. Dark circles were evident against the pallor of his face, and even his vibrant red hair seemed to have subdued.

“When we were first years at Hogwarts, I was nothing but a muggleborn witch determined to prove my place in this world. I was so desperate to prove myself that I pushed silly juvenile things like friendship and fun aside. Harry showed me just how important those things could be. He is…was…more than just the Boy Who Lived; he was my best friend.”

Off to her right, she could hear the sounds of sobbing, and she didn’t need to look to know that Mrs. Weasley had broken into tears again.

“Harry will be buried next to his parents, in the graveyard at Godric’s Hollow. I struggled for a long time to figure out what to put on his gravestone. How do you summarize a life lived so fully? How do you explain just how loved he was? All the people he saved? The good he did? Then I remembered something Harry told me that Dumbledore once told him; those we love never truly leave us. There are things death cannot touch. Death cannot touch the legacy Harry left behind of tolerance and peace. So join me now, in lighting your wands to celebrate the life of the Boy Who Lived.” Raising her wand to the sky, Hermione felt the tears she had been holding back slide down her face as the thousands gathered on the grounds joined her.

Soon a sea of varying lights filled the air, and Hermione knew Harry would have loved it. To have been remembered as he was, as more than the Boy who Lived. The picture of Harry they had used was one of her favorites, he was smiling and carefree and so, so young.

“Granger, best you head to the graveyard.” Robards looked much the same as he always did, slightly disheveled and hard, with a softness to his edges. He truly was grieving Harry’s loss. She didn’t really bother with a response, preferring instead to nod in his general direction and head towards where her friends were gathered.

Ginny and Ron found her after people had begun to leave the public memorial. The private funeral in Godric’s Hollow was set to start at precisely 3 o’clock, and it was nearly ten to. “Your speech was brilliant ‘Mione. He would have…he would’ve loved it.” Ron croaked out, and for the first time, Hermione could plainly see the despair on his face. He was their best friend, and besides Ginny, they were probably hit the hardest by his loss.

All her years at Hogwarts and on the run, Hermione had thought of nothing but keeping Harry and Ron alive. And she had been bloody good at it. He would have died a thousand times over if not for her, and that knowledge filled Hermione with a rage like that which she had never felt. Muggle psychology books often discussed the five stages of grief, and Hermione had just arrived at the second stage.

“Dad arranged for a portkey to Godric’s Hollow. Its leaving in a minute. You coming?” Ginny’s eyes were empty and burdened as Hermione connected with them, and her heart sank even more. It wasn’t fair. Life wasn’t fair. She had lost so much and she was just 21 years old. Harry had died even younger than his parents. He didn’t deserve to die. He deserved a long, happy life. Suddenly, an idea began to form in Hermione’s brain. She could fix this…she could give everyone…give Harry, what he deserved. Time magic was fickle and dangerous, but Hermione didn’t particularly care. There was nothing more dangerous than a witch with nothing to lose, and the world had already taken everything from her.

“I think I’ll apparate. The walk to the apparition border will give me some time to clear my head.” Hermione tried desperately to sound alright, to not give away her epiphany. There would be no bargaining or depression or acceptance from her. As it had always been, if she wanted something done right, she would have to do it herself.

Ginny and Ron nodded solemnly and began to walk towards the broken clock that Arthur had placed in the clearing next to where the memorial had been. They were joined shortly by their siblings and parents, and Hermione watched them glow and disappear. The Weasleys had each other, they always had. Hermione had Harry, and now he was gone. Shooting one last longing glance at the cold life-less body of the boy she had known, she allowed for a handful of tears to escape.

“I will fix this Harry…I promise.” With that promise whispered on her lips, she imagined the graveyard of Godric’s Hollow. Kingsley and Robards were the last thing she saw as the familiar tug of apparition carried her away. Her stomach twisted uncomfortably from the experience, made worse by the fact that she hadn’t had a proper meal in days. Righting herself and taking a moment to ensure she wasn’t going to be sick, she straightened out her dress and continued on.

Godric’s Hollow had been a particularly nasty memory for Hermione, and she had not been back to the small sleepy village since their encounter there on Christmas Day in 1997. It looked much the same as it had that dreary snow-filled night, as if time had not really moved on. Everywhere she looked, she could see evidence of where she and Harry had been. 

For a moment, she felt a pull of the anger she had long since gotten over that Ron had not been there with them. He had abandoned them, and now he was alive and Harry was dead. Hermione knew that it wasn’t rational and pinched the bridge of her nose to bring herself back to the present.

Everyone was already gathered near the little church graveyard, and Hermione walked slowly towards them. It was not quite as cold at Godric’s Hollow as it had been in the Scottish Highlands, but she still felt the chill run through her like a knife. Approaching the white picket fence that surrounded the area, it squeaked in protest as she opened the gate. Seamus Finnigan was the first one brave enough to approach her, giving her a warm hug. They had never been extremely close, but she was grateful for him. One by one, she made her way through the crowd, greeting every person who had come. 

Words were said about bravery and love and the power that Harry knew. Everyone sniffled and cried and conjured handkerchiefs began making rounds as it went on. This ceremony was much smaller, maybe only fifty people or so, but the agony of this group was greater than that of the thousands. Kingsley’s speech this time was much different, speaking not as a public figure, but as a member of the Order of the Phoenix. This time he mourned Harry not as the savior of the wizarding world, but as a fallen comrade; a feeling Kingsley had become all too familiar with.

“I have fought in two wars now, spanning multiple generations. It was my most distinct pleasure to have been able to know Harry James Potter. Like his parents before him, he is gone much too soon, and all those he touched are privileged to have known him. He was the bravest man I’ve ever known, and I will mourn him for the rest of my life.” Hermione could see the man’s normally stoic expression was somber and tight. This was much harder than his speech as Minister of Magic.

“He died saving Neville Longbottom, who is now recovering in St. Mungo’s. There is no count to how many people Harry saved, but I…I know that he has saved me more times than I can count. His life was short, but his legacy will live long past when all of us have joined him beyond the veil.” Casting a spell Hermione was unfamiliar with, glasses of firewhiskey began to appear in everyone’s hands. Kingsley, as the last members of their group received their shares, raised his own glass. “To Harry.” Everyone joined in the salute, and Hermione nearly choked as the amber liquid flowed down her throat. She had never been one for wizarding liquor, but she managed to drain the glass.

One by one, the guests approached the grave where Harry had been buried. The dirt was freshly disturbed, and Hermione was reminded of the last time she had been in the graveyard with him. There had been a fresh grave then too, not too far off from his parents; the only difference this time was that the fresh grave was his. 

Hermione lingered as people said their goodbyes, observing everyone’s reactions. Andromeda Tonks approached first, holding a squirming Teddy Lupin on her hip. The metamorphmagus, who was two now, understood enough to be sad. He changed his normally bright turquoise hair to dark black curls, and Andromeda hugged him tighter, apparating away with a painful expression. George was quiet, but then this was not the worst loss he’d ever survived. Bill and Fleur carried Victoire with them, and the small girl placed her flower on the grave like it was a party game. She was only a few months old…she didn’t understand death yet. Hermione found herself envying the little girl. Charlie and Percy were next, each saying their polite goodbyes. They may not have known him as well as the others, but he was family. Seamus and Dean raised their wands to the gravestone, adding an etching of a golden snitch. It was beautiful, and Hermione once again found herself grateful for them. Luna, who wore a very colorful yellow sweater dress, smiled as she approached the grave, and Hermione’s keen gaze focused even more.

Luna said something quietly, and Hermione couldn’t make out what it was, and then she left her spectrespecs on the stone. The purple and pink glasses contrasted violently with the cold grey marble, and it was too much to look at once again. She became vaguely aware of the other guests paying their respects, laying down their flowers and trinkets, and apparating away to the gathering Molly and Arthur were hosting at the Burrow.

She insisted on being the last one up, which Ginny and Ron seemed hesitant to agree to. Surprisingly, it was Ron who finally broke and convinced Ginny to let her have a few private moments. “She needs this Gin.” He pleaded. Ron had never been good around graveyards. He didn’t like to dwell on death. 

His goodbye had been subdued, placing a single galleon on the top of the grey tombstone. “Cannons lost…You…you won the bet. Wouldn’t want you telling everyone on the other side that I don’t pay my debts.” Clearing his throat to fight back the tears that Hermione could see forming, his voice broke as he said his last goodbye. “I’ll take care of her.” He turned his back then, returning to his sister’s side. Harry would have liked that…to know that Ginny would be looked after. 

Ginny, her brown eyes red from nearly three straight hours of sobbing, finally sniffled and hugged Hermione tight. Ginny’s goodbye was perhaps the hardest thing Hermione had ever had to see.

The red head approached the grave like a child taking her first steps. Each movement looked like it agonized her, and Hermione had to keep from surging forward when she dropped to her knees in front of the stone. The sound of Ginny’s scream would haunt Hermione for the rest of her life; absolute devastation and sorrow filling her as she poured out all of her sadness. She was not mourning just Harry in that moment…she was mourning all he could have been. She was mourning the marriage they would never have, the children they would never conceive, the life they had planned together. It was too much, and something in the strong, passionate witch shattered. As much as Hermione had wished the screaming would stop, the silence that filled the air when it did was deafening, and she found herself wishing that it would start again.

Ginny, now raw and empty and broken, shakily rose from the dirt and stumbled over to Ron. Hermione waved them on as Ron looked at her. She would not make Ginny stay in this terrible place any longer.

When the crack of disapparation filled the air, Hermione could feel the chill choking her. It was too much…everything was too much. The silence was suddenly too loud, and she walked mindfully over to where her best friend laid buried. She would never hear his voice again…never see him marry, never seen him become a father. There was so much he was supposed to do. Glancing over to where James and Lily were laid to rest, next to their son, Hermione felt a fire spark. All of her anger and her disappointment and her bitterness melded together. Harry didn’t deserve this, and neither had James or Lily. Maybe…

Her mind began to move faster than she could think, and flashes of her research and her time turner began to pop into her mind. She could fix it…she could do it. It would take time, a lot of time, but she could go back.

“The last enemy we defeat is death.” Her voice was ominous, as it read the words that were etched into the graves of her friend’s parents. That was wrong. Dumbledore was wrong. The last enemy she had to defeat was not death…no her enemy was time.


	4. The Beginning of the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger does not grieve in the way anybody expected, so what will this brilliant witch channel her grief into?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Again, I am just thrilled by the response this story has been getting and I am excited to share the next chapter with all of you. Big thanks as always to my alpha rotehexe for everything she does!

It was on the third anniversary of Harry Potter’s death that Hermione Granger finally completed her time turner. The process had been agonizing, and there had been many failures. Sometime during the first year, she had been put in hospital at St. Mungo’s for magical exhaustion, but it had all been worth it as she stared at the delicate gold sphere in her hand. She’s had to make numerous trips to the time room, each time collecting sand from the shattered time turners.

The time room brought back bad memories, but it was nothing compared to the numbness of having lost Harry. It was unfair, how time seemed to move on despite Harry’s death. Ginny…well for a while Hermione had worried she would never be the same. She pulled out of the Harpies; spent most of her time in Grimmauld Place, almost haunting it. Wandering the halls, a ghost; a shell of who she once was. Everything reminded her of Harry, and it was only after an intervention from her family and Hermione that she agreed to move back into the Burrow.

Then she slowly, very slowly started to get better. The first time she got onto a broom was after a year, and then it was like she could fly away her pain. Hermione would probably not be far off in saying that Ginny spend almost all of her waking hours in the air. Flying seemed to clear the girl’s mind and the clearer her mind was, the less it was clouded by memories of Harry Potter and the life she’d never get to live with him.

Months of flying non-stop made Ginny a force on a broom, and when she felt well enough again she asked the Harpies for a second chance. Gwenog Jones and the other players couldn’t hold it against her, and she was allowed back on the team on a probationary basis. By the end of the season though, she was ranked as the seventh best chaser in the world.

Ron threw himself into the Aurors. Most nights he didn’t even return to Grimmauld Place until well after midnight. It was the most-dedicated that Hermione had ever seen him, but it was like watching someone in a car go from zero to one thousand. He began to give too much, and then it was like everything that had been fueling him just gave out. Being strong for his family, for Ginny, for his fellow Aurors…it exhausted him and then he just didn’t have anything else left.

Hermione had to drag him out of bed after two weeks. His hair was disheveled and longer than she’d ever seen it and he hadn’t shaved. Although he had cast refreshing charms, it did nothing for the stale quality of the air in his room. Strangely enough, it was George who finally broke him out of his rut. He just showed up one day with two brooms in his hand and wouldn’t take no for an answer. It seemed so simple. Flying seemed to cure the Weasleys…well maybe not cure, but it was a way to cope. But flying didn’t help Hermione.

Hermione hated Quidditch. Even more following Harry’s death. Sirius had once told him that his father carried around a golden snitch to fidget with in his pocket, and after the war Harry had taken to carrying one of his own. Every time she caught sight of a flash of gold, it turned her stomach…too familiar and too painful. Ron tried his best to comfort her…after he started getting better, like he had when the fighting had ended, but she wasn’t sad and broken like he expected. No, she was focused and angry.

Ronald Weasley was not good at angry. He didn’t know what to do to calm the raging storm that beat inside Hermione’s chest. He didn’t know how to look into her eyes and hide the terror he felt. She was like a tsunami wave…he could see her building and building but never knew when she would crash down and drown them all.

It drove her barmy, that everyone treated her like something fragile; like porcelain. Rage filled her until all she could do was lock herself away in her research lab and work on finding a way out. The world around her became too small…too crowded by painful memories. Green eyes haunted her when she was awake and at night they haunted her dreams. She couldn’t escape.

The actual construction of the time turner didn’t take long, only a few months. She had been forced to take a break however, for a few weeks during her early research because Kingsley had managed to get the Remus Lupin Bill for the Support of Lycanthropes on the floor of the Wizengamot.

It had been easy to manipulate the law-makers into approving her bill, not that it really mattered since she would be erasing this narrative when she traveled back in time anyway. Harry’s name had a weight to it that not even the most dark-aligned pure-bloods could aggrieve, and his name was splattered all throughout her legislation. He had been the one to fund her research, and he had helped her track down Fenrir Greyback’s old pack and offer them wolfsbane. The Wizengamot had no choice but to pass her legislation, and it was the first time after Harry’s death that Hermione had managed to smile.

Reporting that news to Remus’s portrait had been one of her proudest moments. He had been around more since Harry’s funeral, keeping his promise that he was around when she needed him. The portrait with its antique gold leafed frame hung there absent for so many years and then all of a sudden it was constantly occupied. She remembered it clearly, the day that she confided in him about her plan.

He had been hesitant at first, going through the motions of trying to convince her that time was far too dangerous a thing to mess about with, but she was resolute. Hermione Granger could not live in a world without Harry Potter so she would go back to one where he was happy and with his family and…alive. Remus took about an hour of debate to convince, and he still didn’t agree with her plan, but he realized that it would be impossible to talk her out of it.

After that, all of her goals and plans were singularly focused towards one thought: the past. It was incredibly tricky; there was a reason that only Unspeakables were legally allowed to investigate it. Remus helped as much as he could by sparring with her intellectually. All of her research had to be clandestine, so he was the only other person she could talk over it with.

The tricky part about time magic wasn’t the receptacle or the construction; no it was the damaging process of controlling it. She could snap her fingers to travel a few seconds back, but choosing to go further back, now that was damn near impossible without the proper tools.

She succeeded in making the illegal time turner about sixth months into her research. It was a shame really, that all the time turners had been destroyed during their raid on the Ministry during their fifth year. Even Hermione’s own personal one that she had used third year had been collected by Professor McGonagall. Her memory was very well developed, but it would have been significantly easier to repurpose one than to make one from scratch. Even having access to the Department of Mysteries’ files on time magic didn’t make the behemoth task easier.

The runes around the outside of the time turner were what gave it the magic to control time…to reverse. Each rune normally counted a minute or a second, but this was no meager leap in time. This was not her trip three hours in the past to save Sirius when she was 14. No this was a trip that would take her almost thirty years back. No one had ever gone back that far…well not anyone that they knew of.

Once the center of the device had been filled with the grains of sand that she had gathered, she sealed it and started on the most draining part of the process. The runes for seconds could be made without really even thinking about the magical cost, minutes cost only a bit more and so on for hours and days and weeks and months. But years…each rune that represented a year nearly drained Hermione of her magic.

In the beginning, she tried to do a few runes in a day, which had led to her stint in St. Mungo’s. Everyone was so concerned for her, but she hated it. Hermione had always hated hospitals, but the forced bed rest left her with nothing but her thoughts and her thoughts were so dark. The rage that filled her was so intense that she was nearly vibrating with it. She played the part of her old self to all the Weasleys, her co-workers, Neville…anyone who came to visit, but it was tired and inauthentic. It was like the mask of who she had been was slowly slipping away but she couldn’t let anyone discover the new hardened woman underneath.

It was slower going after that, but it was less draining. Completing around two runes a week gave Hermione plenty of time for experimentation with the ability to go back. By her calculations, she should’ve been done by Christmas. Having just completed her eighteenth rune, Hermione walked out of the floo at Grimmauld Place looking like living death, but something felt wrong, so as much as she wanted to fall into her bed and drift off into a dream-less sleep, she couldn’t.

Raising her wand hesitantly, she cast a non-verbal revealing spell and waited. The results showed that there were indeed people in her home, but the light green colour also meant they were friendly. It was then that she realized with a shock what day it was. Rounding the corner into the kitchen, she steeled herself for an evening of pretending.

“Surprise!” A crowd of faces shouted, and Hermione forced a large smile onto her face. It wasn’t a good act; she could tell that the smile didn’t reach her eyes. Maybe no one would notice…Ron and Ginny certainly wouldn’t. Their friendships were so fragile now, it was like if she held on too tight they would all crumble, and so she chose to do what she thought would hurt less…she let go. The Weasleys filled the small kitchen, as well as Luna Lovegood, Dean Thomas, and Neville Longbottom. It was only the second time Hermione had seen Neville since Harry’s funeral, and she did her best to send him a warm smile.

“Happy Birthday ‘Mione.” Ron greeted, planting a slight kiss on her cheek. She couldn’t conjure the energy to chastise him for the nickname, so she just smiled emptily at him.

“Thanks Ron. I’ve been so busy at the Ministry that I hadn’t even noticed it was my birthday. This was certainly a pleasant surprise.” Hermione wasn’t exactly lying. She hadn’t noticed it was her birthday and it was good to see all the people that she cared about but seeing them all only made her think even more about how she had spent her birthday the year before.

“Its nice to see you out of the office for once Hermione. I feel like I only ever see you when I get called in on assignments.” Hermione just shrugged. She was married to her work; that’s what all her friends thought. No one knew what she was up to, and she was grateful because they would try to stop her if they did.

Luckily for her, Ginny approached with a piece of cake and enticed Ron away. Even though nothing else seemed to stay the same, there was always the Weasley appetite to provide a sense of constancy. It was a peace offering, and Hermione could tell Ginny was helping in her own small way. Ginny was still a fire, but she burned more like a campfire now rather than fiendfyre. She was subdued and observant, and much more shrewd.

“Can I borrow the birthday girl for a moment Gin?” A deep voice called from over her shoulder, and she was surprised when she turned and saw Neville standing behind her. He seemed taller somehow than when she had last seen him, but perhaps that was the confidence of a man who had cheated death.

At first, Hermione had been angry at Neville. It was a misplaced rage over the need to blame someone or something for Harry’s death. Seeing the person who he’d died to save seemed cruel in a way. It was poetic in the way only life can be, that Neville and Harry lived such separate and yet intertwined lives. Once Hermione let her anger at Neville wash over her, it quickly turned to pity and then anger again. Everything went to anger.

Then Neville got added to her list of people who she would save. She was still haunted by the sad smile that had graced the gentle giant’s face when they had seen him at St. Mungo’s during their sixth year. Alice and Frank Longbottom had endured the Cruciatus more than the human body could handle and it had locked them in their own minds. How awful it must have been to know your parents will never remember you. She would save Lily and James and then she would save Alice and Frank and both Harry and Neville would grow up as happy and well-adjusted boys with their parents.

“Alright Nev, but make sure not to go too far. By the look Ron is giving mum’s cake I don’t know how much will be left when you return.” Ginny’s words teetered the line between joking and truth, and both Hermione and Neville grimaced as they watched Ron shove a second slice of cake into the cavern he called a mouth.

Hermione led him towards her study and closed the door. It was automatically set to silence the sounds from outside of the room when the door was closed so the quiet clamor of the party faded away. Remus was notably absent from his portrait, but Hermione chose to lock that information away for later.

“What’s up Neville?” It was the most words that had been spoken between them in months, and she felt a sudden flare of guilt build in her. He was her friend and she had been so cold and distant.

“Something is going on with you Hermione.” It was blunt, grating…not the way Neville normally spoke. Not an accusation necessary, but tipped at her throat like a brandished dagger nonetheless. There was an edge to his voice that she hadn’t heard from him before and suddenly her eyes moved over him as if ascertaining a threat.

“Why do you say that?” Hermione’s voice was strange even to her, and she swallowed the lump down in her throat as she shriveled. “Who am I kidding? You’re right. I’ve been so careful. No one else has noticed. Not Ron. Not Ginny. But you…you were always the most observant.”

She didn’t know what to do from there. It was a very Slytherin tactic to deploy. Hopefully he’d take the bait. Distracting people from her real emotions by showing them what they expected…what they wanted to see.

“Just promise me Hermione that you won’t do anything dangerous. I’ve never seen someone grieve the way you do. Its like…fire but a cold fire. Like you’re made up of nothing but blind rage and determination. I just…whatever you’re determined to do, don’t lose yourself in it.” It was a surprisingly astute observation, and Hermione’s jaw hung just a bit before she closed her mouth with a click.

“I promise Neville.” It was weak, and uncertain and shaky, but it was a promise nonetheless. Neville at least seemed somewhat appeased, as he wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders. The pseudo-hug warmed her more than she cared to admit, and she marveled in the moment. “Let’s go get some cake yeah?” The moment was nice, but it was just a moment and like all moments it passed.

Neville pulled away from her and smiled in the way he always had, goofy and crooked and like everything would be alright and it hurt her all over again. She couldn’t make his parents better in this time, the same way she couldn’t bring Harry back from the dead, but she could make things better from the pass.

Just as she went to pull the door shut behind her, Remus Lupin stepped back into his portrait and she could feel his eyes on her. Those eyes that were always so gentle and so familiar gleaned at her with disappointment.

“You deserve to be happy too. Remember that little one.” Her eyes brimmed with tears as she closed the door tightly. Happiness would have to wait…at least hers would.


	5. Goodbye is the Hardest Word

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione's project is complete and she starts to feel the weight of her plan as she prepares for her life to change.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part 1, Determination, which is the shortest section of this story. Thank you all so much for the kind reception you have given this fic, and extra thanks for all the comments and kudos because they sincerely make my day. As always, this story would not be possible without the wonderful Rotehexe!

Once Hermione was sure that her time turner would work, she began the slow process of saying goodbye to her life. It felt empty and shallow as she began to pack all of her belongings into her beaded bag. By her calculations, she would be arriving in 1979; 25 years in the past. Pain stung her as she divided everything she owned into necessities and non-necessities. A small part of her knew that she shouldn’t take sentimental things with her, but as she went to place her box of photographs in the non-essential pile, her heart shattered.

That had resulted in an evening spent sorting through memories and sobbing. Every smile she saw from Harry was like a knife cutting through her, and she knew that she couldn’t bear to leave him behind. A picture of her father and mother with her outside of King’s Cross on her first day at Hogwarts struck her like a slap. It had been so long since she had seen them, and now she would be going back in time and convincing the Grangers to move to Australia with their young child who would grow up to attend Floundrings instead. Hermione Granger could not grow up in Kensington, and she could not go to Hogwarts.

Her list of necessary changes began to grow and it became a task of managing to change the least to make the biggest impact. Suddenly, there was an obvious change that seemed to be the start of the ripples…Regulus Black.

Regulus Black died sometime in 1979, and if she could catch him before he went to the cave to destroy the locket then she would be able to use him to get the other horcruxes. The cup and the diary had caused her no end to frustration as she tried to ascertain the details of how she could attain them. It wasn’t like she could go up to Lucius Malfoy and innocently ask him for the diary. How would an interaction like that even go? “Oh hello Mr. Malfoy. You don’t know me because I haven’t quite been born yet, but if you could just hand over the piece of Voldemort’s soul that you’re holding on to that would be just swell.” At least the Lucius of this time had been willing to talk to her in Azkaban. He was a smart man and he had figured out her plan from the start, and he agreed to give her information in exchange for a promise that she would protect him in the past.

Bellatrix…well she couldn’t imagine a situation where she didn’t just murder Bellatrix on the spot. It would certainly be the easiest way to save Alice and Frank and Sirius and Merlin knows how many other witches, wizards, and muggles that she had played a hand in the torture or murder of. No, her best shot was Regulus.

By her calculations (which were incredibly tricky arithmancy because of the shift in time), there was an 84% chance that she could convince him to be a spy for her, but she had to be certain. This was the situation that caused her to summon Kreacher for the first time since Harry’s death.

“Kreacher.” Hermione called, her voice wavering as the uncertainty of the command ran through her. Harry had given Hermione Grimmauld Place and everything inside of it, but Kreacher was tied to the House of Black more than Grimmauld Place itself. Draco Malfoy seemed to have no interest in owning the elf however, so she prayed it would work.

Sitting in her research lab in the Department of Mysteries, she sighed loudly after a moment before clearing her throat. Perhaps if she was more forceful…”Kreacher!” This time her voice was clear and crisp and authoritative, although the whole process left a bitter taste in her mouth. She would ask him her questions and then she would leave him to his own devices.

To her massive surprise – and relief – Kreacher appeared in her office with a loud pop. Older now than when she had last seen him, he managed to only scowl at her rather than his normal grimace. “Mistress.” He gritted out. The elf may have turned away from his negative opinion of Hermione when they had discovered Regulus’s duplicity, but he had been trained to think that muggleborns were filth and now he was serving one.

“Kreacher…urm…thank you for coming. I have some questions. About Regulus.” At the mention of his old master’s name, Kreacher’s long pointed ears perked. The hair that was growing around them was grey and long and gave evidence to just how long the tiny creature had been alive.

“Master Regulus. Kreacher is happy to answer, but Kreacher wonders why miss is wanting to know.” Hermione assumed that the weakness of their bond was what allowed him to question her, but she could hardly complain about a house-elf gaining independence.

“I’ve found myself curious about Regulus more recently. He…he risked so much to hurt Voldemort, and I just want to know what happened to him.” Kreacher regarded her with a distrustful smirk but nodded his head slowly. She doubted he would ever truly like her, but she could settle for a lower level of hatred.

“What is miss wanting to know?” Hermione invited him to sit down, which of course the offended elf refused to do. She would never understand some aspects of the wizarding world and the treatment of house elves was a big one. “I know you’ve told us the story before, but when exactly did Regulus go to the cave?”

“Master Regulus is going to that dreadful place on the blood traitor’s birthday. Mistress blamed the blood traitor, says it was his fault she did.” It was fairly obvious to her that Kreacher was talking about Sirius. He never referred to Sirius by name, even when he had been alive. Staring off into the distance, Hermione shut her eyes tight and forced back all the thoughts that were racing through her. Sirius…she would be going back to when everyone was so young.

Remus wouldn’t be worn and tattered like a rag doll left out in the rain. In her study at Grimmauld Place, Hermione had gathered every letter and picture and book mention that allowed her to make a definitive timeline of the key events that led up to the night of the Potters’ murders. The center of her web of related moments was a picture she had found in Sirius’s room after his death of the Marauders and Lily at their Hogwarts graduation. Everyone was so young, so unburdened by the weight of the first war.

An annoyed grunt brought her out of her own head, and Hermione straightened as she remembered that Kreacher was still there. “Oh…urm…yes. Sorry. So Regulus went to the cave on Sirius’s birthday. What did…how was he acting beforehand?”

“Master was angry. He is taking care of Kreacher.” The elf got quiet then, and Hermione noticed a softening to the grumpy elf’s features. As rude and belligerently biased as Kreacher was, he so clearly cared for Regulus and it made Hermione sad to see him upset.

“I promise Kreacher, I’ll protect Regulus. I’m going…I’m going to save many people and Regulus is going to be one. You can…you’re free to go back to whatever it is you were doing.” Kreacher’s distrustful eyes grew in size as they stared at her. His gaze was oppressive, like she could feel the weight of his sorrow. Regulus had been the only person to ever show him any kindness in the Black family and she was promising to bring him back.

“Mistress is helping master. Why?” It was a fair question, but Hermione faltered for a moment in what to say. Kreacher was tied to her, so she could force him to keep her secrets but that felt so wrong. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she chewed lightly for a moment before taking a deep breath.

“Because he deserves better. They all do.” The words were more ominous than she intended, but they were only that way to her. Kreacher, for all of his scowling, managed a hrumph of agreement before apparating away. His presence was there and then gone and she was alone again. That seemed to be how she spent all of her days now; alone. With Ron helping George revitalize the joke shop and Ginny leading the world league in points scored by a chaser, Hermione was left to her obsessive nature.

She couldn’t rest until her task was done, and there was nothing left to do but prepare for her departure. Some nights, when the overwhelming guilt of living gnawed away at her like a dog with a bone, she would curl up into Harry’s bed and feel the remnants of him. Normally rooms would lose their sense of the person who had lived within them with time, but she had a near constant stasis charm cast over the area. Perhaps it wasn’t the healthiest way to cope with her best friend’s death, but for the brief and fleeting moments where she could feel him, it was worth it.

* * *

It was ironic, or perhaps destiny that Hermione was ready to leave on her mission on May 2nd. It had been the sixth anniversary of Lord Voldemort’s defeat, but there was no celebratory mood like there had been in years past. Already, the wizarding world was forgetting; growing comfortable in the post-Voldemort world. It boiled Hermione’s blood to walk down the streets in Diagon Alley to see witches and wizards going about their days like it was any other. This was the date Harry had died…well died for the first time.

Her walk to her office was as ordinary as it had been every day prior, and Hermione felt the guilt rising in her chest with every forced smile and half-hearted greeting. Just as quickly as she arrived, she left; clutching her bag concealing her illegal time turner so tightly that her knuckles were white.

She had been slowly giving away things from her pile of non-essentials to those she thought would most benefit from them. Harry’s old quidditch practice jersey that she had taken their fifth year and never given back was gifted to Ginny, whose brown eyes brimmed with tears as she hugged Hermione tightly. The ginger witch was coping, but Hermione could see that she was not the same…no one was. Hermione pulled Ginny in tighter and relished in her touch for just a moment too long, one last hug. It was a goodbye and yet Ginny was none-the-wiser, confidently stating that she would see Hermione at Victoire Weasley’s fifth birthday party that weekend. She would not.

Ron was next on her list of unaware goodbyes, and it was perhaps the hardest goodbye she had to say. It had always been the three of them…her, Harry and Ron. For as long as she could remember they had been her guiding lights in the wizarding world. When she felt unwelcome or unwanted or not good enough, they were always there to remind her that there would always be a place in the world of magic for her. Their friendship had been so strained after Harry’s death, and Hermione’s heart ached for the way things had been. Ron was difficult for Hermione to pick out a parting present for mainly because everything she was doing felt so meaningless. If her mission was successful, this reality would cease to exist the moment that her existence formed in 1979. There would never be the Golden Trio. She would never get to go to school with Harry and Ron, but knowing that Voldemort would be gone from the world made everything worth it.

She had finally decided on the old wizard’s chess board in Grimmauld Place. Ron had always been brilliant at wizard’s chess, and for as long as he would manage before his life changed, she wanted him to have it. More observant than anyone gave him credit for, Ron seemed to notice that something was off with her when they met for tea. 

_ “Mione, whats going on with you? You never come round the Burrow anymore and whenever you’re not at work you’re working at home. What’s the big secret project?” His kind blue eyes stared at her as he smiled weakly. It had been her first time seeing him in nearly three months, and the overwhelming guilt she already felt sat in her stomach like a stone; the weight crushing her. _

_ Forcing her sweetest smile and chuckling fakely at him, Hermione fed him the same lie she told everyone else. “Top secret information Ron. I can’t tell you, but maybe…maybe soon.” The words felt like acid coming up her throat, and it took all the strength she had not to grimace. This was painful, but she needed to do this. _

_ “Speaking of secrets…” Hermione began, hoping that the change in conversation wouldn’t be too abrupt. Flicking her wand, the tea cups they were drinking out of began to float behind her as she led him to the study. The warm wood of the door and desk were catching the sunshine that day, making the gloomy space feel bright. Gesturing to the elegant arm chairs that flanked the large globe in the center, Hermione set their tea down on the side table. Tapping the globe three times, it opened to reveal an intricate wizards chess set that she had no doubt was at least two hundred years old. _

_ “You asked me over to play chess? Not really much of a secret how rubbish you are at it ‘Mione.” He laughed weakly at his own joke, as did she, although her laughter was accompanied by a shaking head. _

_ “I’ve been…going through all of the things in this house that Harry left me and I figured there was no one better to give this to than you.” The silence that followed her declaration grew increasingly more uncomfortable as Ron grabbed one of the delicate chess pieces with his large hand. He twirled the Queen in his hand, examining it carefully as if he was an art curator and this was a masterpiece. As wizard chess sets go, this was a rather rare and beautiful one, but there was something more in Ron’s eyes. Slowly, tears began to brim around them, and Hermione realized that it wasn’t the chess set that he was caught on; it was that it had been Harry’s and Sirius’s. _

_ “You don’t have to take it…I just figured that he would want you to have it. Maybe use it to teach Teddy how to play. He would’ve…he would’ve liked that.” Her voice split at the end of her phrase, and she found herself mimicking Ron’s brush of tears. They never talked about Harry…not directly. It was too painful for both of them. In the three years since he had died, she could count on one hand how many times they mentioned his name. _

_ “Okay.” Ron looked older in that moment, not that he didn’t look like a man all the time; more like the weight of the war and Harry’s death aged him. She knew he blamed himself for Harry’s death. If he hadn’t been injured he could’ve saved him. If he had realized it was a trap. If…there were so many scenarios that Ron created where he could’ve prevented it, but none of them were what happened. What happened was Harry sacrificed himself to save everyone else... again. _

_ “I miss him ‘Mione…every day.” By now the glistening of tears around his eyes had begun to fall down his face as he began to cry. It was healthy, perhaps, for him to finally cry over Harry, but Hermione fought back her tears. She had cried enough for a lifetime, this lifetime anyway. _

_ Hugging him with their size difference was almost comical, but as she pulled his head to her chest and began stroking his hair, he looked much smaller than he was. This was the boy who had saved her from a troll…this was the Ron she knew. A need to feel close to him gave her pause as she cooed soothingly at the wizard. Could she really leave all of this behind? Could she go back and give up everything she’d ever known? _

_ One glance towards where Remus’s painting hung empty and she knew the answer. She could. She would. She had to. Where her heart had been there was nothing but pain and fire; a fire burning inside her to right all the horrific wrongs of this world. Harry didn’t have to die. Remus didn’t have to die. Sirius. Lily. James. So many innocent lives lost for nothing. To make the world better they would say. Hermione nearly spat out a cruel laugh at the thought. The world wasn’t better, it was different certainly, but nothing serious had changed. Blood purists still controlled the Wizengamot and the ministry was still corrupt. Death Eaters with power and money avoided Azkaban again. Nothing had changed, and so she would change everything. _

“Are you certain about this? There is time still to turn back little witch.” Remus Lupin’s portrait was wiser perhaps than she’d expected. There was something about the calm way he spoke that drew her to him. She had gotten on with the real Remus very well when he was alive, but this painting felt more contemporary to her. It gave her hope that the Remus Lupin of 1979 might be a strength for her.

“I have to do this Remus. I have to.” Her pleading tone was just as much for herself as it was for him, and Hermione steeled her spine as she gathered the last bits of her research from the study. It had already been a bare and cold space, but Hermione had added bits and pieces of herself into it over the years. As the shelves emptied themselves into her beaded bag, a sad smile flickered across her face. All of her time and effort and sleepless nights and early mornings were finally going to pay off.

“When you arrive…in the past. You’ll need help. Find me. I’ll help you.” The promise pushed the breath from Hermione’s chest as immense relief filled her body. She could complete her mission on her own, but it would be an incredibly lonely two years. Glancing at the journal that lay open on her desk, she felt a bubble fill her chest. It would be a lonely existence, but just imagine what she could do. She was going to change the world.

“Past you, he’ll be skeptical of me; rightly so. What can I tell him to get him to trust me?” It was a simple enough question, not dissimilar from the tests they had performed during the war. Something that she could tell the werewolf so he would know that she was telling the truth.

“Tell him James was right. Tell him that the darkness is always the worst before the dawn. Its what we used to say to each other when things got bad. It was the last thing I ever said to James. Hermione…please save them. I don’t need to tell you what it will cost if you fail.” Faces flashed in her mind, and Hermione swallowed the hard lump that had formed in her throat. Her beaded bag closed with a sharp click as the last of her books were packed and Hermione startled at how loud the sound was in the painful silence that followed Remus’s words.

“I won’t fail…it would kill me.” Determination had been her only motivator since that terrible day at Godric’s Hollow; that day when she had watched them lower Harry Potter into the ground. The boy who lived, dead.

The final tour she took around Grimmauld Place hurt like a stab wound. Everywhere she saw ghosts of her past, and warnings for the future. If she did her job correctly, none of the people she loved would have to die. Harry would grow up with his parents, happy and loved. Sirius and Remus would still be alive. Everything would be better. As she entered Sirius’s room, she got on her knees, searching under the bed for the shoebox full of memories that she knew was there.

Red and black cardboard held every important moment of Sirius Black’s young life. One picture caught her eye and she pulled the glossy paper from the bottom. In it an unhappy looking man stood next to a woman Hermione recognized as Wahlburga Black (who looked as deeply unpleasant in this photo as her portrait). Beside her stood a shaggy haired boy who had no life behind his eyes. His hand wrapped protectively around the even smaller boy to his left. 

It was easy to see Sirius’s features in the older boy; he was probably about 15 in that photo – the summer before he ran away from home. Handsome as always with a hint of rebellion in his smile. As the photo moved, she could see his tie change from a dark grey to a bright red; a Gryffindor red. She found herself smiling at the way Sirius’s face changed into a smug smirk.

Regulus, who Hermione had never really looked at before, was certainly just as handsome as his brother, but without the anger raging within him. This was a good picture of him, but Hermione didn’t want to have to carry around Sirius’s blood purist mother, so she searched for another photo of the younger Black.

Hidden among the photos of a young Sirius and his friends, there was a single photo close to the bottom of him with his brother. Telling by the bright smile and the way it reached his eyes, Hermione knew that it must’ve been taken before Sirius started Hogwarts, back before he was the disgrace of the Black family. He always told her that it was his proudest title.

“I’ll fix this.” She promised herself, and packed the photos back up neatly in the box before placing it back under the bed. This was her last goodbye to the place she had called her home for the last five years. Finally, it was time to go.

The clock on the wall struck noon as Hermione closed the door to Grimmauld Place tight. Adjusting the wards had been perhaps an unnecessary precaution, but one she took nonetheless. Now only Ron or Ginny would be able to cross them. Warding had always been her strong suit, and she knew that her home would be safe.

Numbness started settling into her bones as she walked to the alley behind Grimmauld to apparate. Even the discomfort of her body disappearing and reappearing didn’t shake her from the single-minded motions of her steps. The gate to the graveyard in Godric’s Hollow squeaked slightly as she pushed on it, and her footsteps squished as she walked across the wet grass.

Harry’s grave was just as it had been the last time she had seen it. In the early months after his death, flowers decorated his grave every day as people traveled from all over to mourn the boy who lived. As time passed, less and less people came by and now, a single white lily sat on the neatly trimmed grass that covered where he was laid to rest. Picking it up, she clutched it tightly to her chest. Ginny. She was the only person who left lilies.

Hermione felt something bubble to her throat, but she swallowed it back down just as quickly as it came. Shame, guilt, longing, loneliness…she was feeling so much in that moment that she couldn’t feel anything. When she went to place the lily back down, she released it like it burned her. She would never visit Harry’s grave again because she would make sure that he outlived her.

“Five turns.” She reminded herself, pulling the delicate gold sphere by its chain out of her bag. It had taken her a year and a half to engrave and enchant the runes, and she had calculated that one turn would take her five years. 25 years. The jump would only last five minutes, so she would have to destroy it when she arrived.

“One.” Hermione counted, thinking of nothing but Harry.

“Two.” She continued, imagining James.

“Three.” Lily.

“Four.” Sirius.

“Five.” Remus.

Closing her eyes tight, she released the mechanism and felt pressure encompass her. Then the world in front of her disappeared.


	6. A New Beginning, A Second Chance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger opens her eyes, and everything is different. How will she navigate this world that is so similar and yet so different from the one she left behind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the first chapter of the significantly longer second part of the series, Destination. I am very excited to bring you all along on this journey and huges thanks to my alpha rotehexe for talking through ideas with me, editing, and keeping me from being evil to my readers.

When Hermione’s eyes opened, the first thing she realized was that there was no gravestone at her feet. Harry James Potter had not been buried because Harry James Potter had not been born. Casting her eyes to the right, she saw that the gravestones of Lily and James were also absent. She had done it!

A cheer died in her throat as the processed what her success entailed. She was in the past, certainly, but it had to be 1979. The plan was pointless if it wasn’t 1979.

Unlike the green, soft grass that had been slicked with the morning dew, this grass was dry and crunched under her shifting feet. The sky was open and warm with only a few clouds dotting the otherwise clear blue expanse. Hermione breathed in deeply, noticing how crisp the air around her was. Everything felt different, and for the first time since Harry died, she felt hope seep into her soul.

Just as soon as she adjusted to her new surroundings, the steely determination that had deposited her there set in. The necklace around her neck began to glow, and she realized, painfully, that if she didn’t destroy it, it would drag her back to an unchanged future. Drawing it tightly between her fingers, there was just a flicker of hesitance as she raised it above her head. It was a marvel of magical creation. No one had ever harnessed time the way she had before.

As it grew hotter in her hand, she closed her eyes tightly. Drawing in a deep breath, she threw it as hard as she could at the nearby cobblestone path. The shattering noise resounded through the air, and the pulse of magic that escaped it as broke nearly knocked her off her feet.

When she opened her brown eyes again, they were damp with tears as the finality of what she had just done. In her mind, she had known that she would never be going home; not to the world she had grown up in. Yet as the glass holding the sand of the time turner began to spill out onto the path, the finality of that action hit her like a punch in the gut.

Allowing herself a moment to grieve, Hermione drew in a ragged breath, sucking sharply in through her teeth. She didn’t have time for loneliness or regret. Her only motivation now was Harry Potter. Stepping away from the missing graves, Hermione was pleasantly surprised to see that Godric’s Hollow had not changed much from what she had known. Aside from the homey little cottage that in this time stood tall and proud rather than in rubble.

The Potter’s home was a sensible two-story house with planters under the windowsills filled with magical herbs. Hermione knew from Sirius and Remus that Lily had been an exceptional potioneer and often grew her own ingredients. Leaves of dittany and ginger sprung from the dirt, and Hermione was surprised that the witch was able to get them to grow in such confinement. Pushing aside all thoughts of herbology, Hermione straightened herself and walked away from Potter Cottage.

From what she had learned in her extensive research before she left the future…the past?...it was confusing to even think about. Her past was now her future, but not the future that she wanted. This logical fallacy rumbled through her mind like a rogue bludger as she walked the short distance to the green front door of the house she had been looking for.

It was just as she always imagined it would be, the bright green front door adorned with a hefty bronze knocker shaped in the image of a lion. The home itself was quite ordinary, but pulsed with magic as she approached it. Ward energy brushed against her magic as she drew closer, and she knew it was the right place. Pulling out her wand from the secret pocket in her jumper, she went to work removing the thorough protections.

They were tricky, yet strangely enough less of a challenge than she had expected. Perhaps the previous owner had grown lazy in his old age. Hermione lost track of how long she peeled away layer after layer of warding and shields and magic. After what felt like days, the oppressive magical bubble around the home seemed to thin and then vanish altogether. Unlocking the door with a non-verbal spell, she cautiously walked through the threshold.

The sitting room of the home was comfortably decorated, if a bit spare. A mirror hung above the fireplace, and although she knew for a fact that the home had been vacant for nearly half a century, there were no signs of disuse. She had expected a thick layer of dust to coat everything, to lay as evidence to the abandonment of the abode. The wizard was perhaps still sentimental, regardless of the pain its bones held. The stasis charm seemed to lift following her footsteps, leaving residue of magic in her wake.

Her thin fingers ran along the spines of the books on a nearby bookshelf, and she wondered if he had read these all; in his time. After she had thoroughly explored the sitting room and tested both the loveseat and armchair for jinxes, hexes and curses, she moved on to the rest of the house.

The kitchen was the next room she encountered, and she frowned upon discovering that it was both outdated and non-functional. Not that she had ever really been a cook in her past life, but it was clear that the small space would need a renovation to become usable. Yellow wallpaper peeled from the corners as an antique gas cooktop sputtered. It was a muggle appliance, perhaps one of the oldest models. At the time it was installed it was probably revolutionary, but in this day and age it was not. Cupboards creaked as she opened them, finding the shelves bare bar an old container of salt and a handful of tea packets. A collection of plates, cups, bowls, and mugs sat in one cabinet, and Hermione was thankful that she wouldn’t need to buy or conjure those. It wouldn’t do at all, but with a little magic and some elbow grease, she could get it up and running again. She would be spending a spectacular amount of time in this house, so she would need a functioning kitchen.

Attached to the kitchen was a long hallway that housed the rest of the rooms. On the walls hung a few portraits of older wizards and a handful of other assorted paintings of seemingly mundane things; a daffodil that wavered in the wind, a log fire crackling in the night. The first door she encountered was plain looking, white, and slightly warped as if from being slammed one too many times.

Opening the door, she found it was almost devoid of personality. The light grey paint on the walls nearly blended with the grey curtains. A crisply made bed covered by white linens and a matching duvet laid untouched, evidence that no one had slept there in many years. The shaded lamp that sat on the oak bedside table emitted a slight buzzing sound as she illuminated it with her wand.

The room was cold and foreboding, much like the man it had belonged to, and Hermione suddenly became overwhelmed with the feeling like she was intruding. Closing the door sharply behind her as she left, she let out a quick breath. “No need to go back in there.” Her voice was unpleasant amongst the silence of the space, and she began to wonder when was the last time anyone spoke in this home.

The next two rooms after that were quite similar, although clearly decorated for guests with handmade quilts and knick knacks. The master bedroom, which was more brightly colored than any she’d previously seen, was more decorated than that first room had been. A small bathroom was attached off to the left, and there was a large closet just next to that. Of course, it had laid vacant even longer than the house itself, devoid of clothes or shoes or anything that would show someone lived there. Photographs of the family decorated the chest of drawers, and Hermione watched with eager fascination as the expressions on the children’s faces changed. 

Had he really grown so old in the time she’d known him? The man she’d known had carried the burden of the world for so long that it was jarring to see the carefree and eager young man he had once been. Next to him stood two more boys, each with similar pleasant smiles. But these men weren’t what caught her eye; what drew her to pick up the frame and stare more closely at it.

She was more beautiful than Hermione had remembered, dressed in light blue with simple white shawl wrapped around her shoulders. It was probably one of the rare opportunities the woman had where she was allowed outside. Despite the black and white nature of the photograph, Hermione could tell that the sky would’ve been clear and blue, not too dissimilar from today. Placing the frame back down where it had been, she quietly made her way to the last room. 

This door was unlike the others, painted a sunny yellow. Before she even opened it, she could tell what awaited her. A creaking noise filled the air as she turned the knob. A simple bed was the first thing she saw, covered in throw pillows of all shapes and sizes. Posters of leading Quidditch players of yester-year and newspaper clippings hung on the wall with a stick charm. The ceiling, which was enchanted to mimic the sky, shone a bright blue as clouds crossed from one corner of the room to the other.

Taking a hesitant step inside, Hermione could feel the weight of all the magic that room had hosted. A white desk was perched under the windowsill, with a quill and parchment rolled out, waiting to be written on. A large pole with a ledge that must have housed an owl at one point remained, unused. In place of a vanity, there was a collection of a variety of small mirrors, that caught Hermione as she walked past. Stacks of books crowded a corner bookshelf, and Hermione picked one up, holding its spine in her hand.

It was an anthology of herbological discoveries of the nineteenth century; purely academic. Many of the books were of a same nature, but then one particular book caught her eyes. It was unlike the others, bound in a harsh black leather and red thread. Severe and emanating with evil, she was reminded of the way she had felt while reading _Magicke Moste Evil_.

Opening the cover, she noticed an inscription on the inside.

_An meinen liebsten Freund…*_ It continued on for another paragraph and half, and she closed the book, frowning.

The text was in German, but based on the very limited understanding she had of the language, she could tell it was about the Statute of Secrecy. If she had to warrant a guess, she was afraid to say that it would probably not look too favorably upon the law. Snapping it shut perhaps harder than necessary, she placed it back amongst the other books and turned. She would stay in the master bedroom, simply because the window faced east…faced towards Potter Cottage. Returning to the room, she opened her beaded bag and summoned her things.

The master bedroom did not have a bookshelf, so she pulled away the second nightstand and – once she was sure it was empty – transfigured it to serve her needs. Dozens of books began to fly through the air and across the room, settling in alphabetical order on the new shelves. By the time they were done sorting themselves out, she had unpacked her clothes. It had been difficult, to find appropriate fashions for the past. She had a few tops, a pair of her mother’s old denims from the time and a lumpy skirt that looked retro enough. It would be easier to buy clothing that would fit in with the late 70’s in the 70’s. 

After unpacking her meager wardrobe – and dealing with a collection of moths who were living in the closet – she sat on the comfortable mattress. There were renovations that needed to be done around the house, but she expected that her visitor would be here shortly.

The walk back to the kitchen was filled with the same encompassing silence that had followed her in this time. Other than the whistling of a few birds when she’d first arrived, she was taken aback by how quiet this reality was. Scourgifying the stovetop just to ensure it was clean, she transfigured the small metal kettle into a bigger one with a copper bottom. It wasn’t her finest transfiguration work, but it would do.

The minutes that passed while she waited for the kettle to boil were filled with busy work as she repaired a broken peg on one of the chairs that sat around the small kitchen table. The window that hung above the sink groaned and fought against her as she opened it, but in the end a breeze of fresh air blew into the stale space. When the whistle of the kettle sounded off, Hermione summoned mugs and poured two cups of tea.

Then all there was was to wait.

As she waited, she played with a frayed edge of the jumper she was wearing. The scratchy pink fabric was not what she would’ve normally worn in the future, the hem sitting higher than she was particularly comfortable with. Her mother’s old bell-bottoms were perhaps a little outdated even for the time she was in, but they were comfortable and reminded her of her parents.

Just as she was about to cast a warming charm on the tea, Hermione heard the front door creak open. She hadn’t expected him to knock…after all, this was his house.

“I find myself intrigued.” The figure spoke, as he shrugged off his outer robes to unveil a rather colorful blue suit. It was in the popular wizard fashion of the time, which meant that he looked like an Edwardian gentleman. His electric blue eyes regarded her with a mixture of suspicion and intrigue as he took the seat across from her where the tea sat.

“I had wondered if perhaps someone had broken in here to steal all my valuables, but then I haven’t regarded anything in here of value since I was a child. No. Whoever took down my wards would be after much more than a few golden baubles. Now I must admit that I am surprised to find such a young woman sitting in my home.” He wandlessly stirred his tea, and Hermione recognized his display of power. If she was there for nefarious purposes, then she might be deterred from her course by that small example of his raw magical power.

Not one to be intimidated, Hermione performed her own wandless magic, summoning a notebook from her beaded bag that still lay on the bed in the master bedroom. It was harder than she would’ve liked to admit, but she maintained an air of calm, trying to show him that she was not just any witch.

His silver eyebrows raised as he took in her display, and something in his expression changed. It was no longer condescending or dismissive; now they were alert and cautious.

“What is it you want then? If not to rob me of my few possessions?” It was a simple question, and yet Hermione brought the mug to her lips as she pondered her answer. Maybe she should tell him everything up front, but then the man she’d known from her time had been far too protective of secrets. The future and time magic itself were contentious subjects, and she already knew what he would say to her when she told him how she had come to be in 1979.

“On Halloween night in 1981, Tom Riddle will try to kill James and Lily Potter and their infant child, Harry. I am here to put that bastard in the ground long before he gets the chance.” Fire burned in her as she spoke, and the ends of her hair crackled with magic as rage filled her. Voldemort would never hurt her friends again, or anyone else for that matter.

The older man in front of her shifted slightly, crossing his legs and leaning back in his chair. His lips were pulled tight as he considered her once again. There was something calculating in his roving glance, and Hermione swallowed the lump in her throat as she was scrutinized. She had expected this, planned for it, and yet she still felt like such a small child under his omnipotent gaze. 

“Why is it you tell me this?” Another question she had anticipated, but never quite figured out how to answer. There was the truth, but the truth required trust, and she didn’t trust in him as blindly as she once had.

“Because I need your help.” It was an admission. Regardless of her preparation and her research and her determination, she needed him.

“Well if I am expected to help you, a good place to start would be your name. It is the question I’ve been wondering ever since I noticed my wards being dismantled. Just who exactly are you?” He grabbed the mug and took a sip, holding eye contact with her all the while. Steeling herself against his gaze once again, she straightened her back. In this timeline, she was not a child, and she would not let him make her feel like one.

“I am Hermione Granger, and you, Albus Dumbledore, are going to help me kill Tom Riddle once and for all.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The German phrase used here is from my rough translation of To my Dearest Friend. I do not speak German, so if its wrong and someone wants to correct me please feel free to do so! Big thanks to WoodE for correcting my German!


	7. New Old Faces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After arriving in the past, Hermione comes face to face with some familiar faces...well familiar enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the continuing support for this story! Also big shout out to my alpha rotehexe for listening to my insane rants. As always, kudos and comments are super appreciated!

Albus Dumbledore was not very vocal or considerably helpful as Hermione recounted her life up unto this point. She left out some details that she preferred to keep to herself, avoiding the older man’s electric blue gaze as she glossed over the details of Voldemort’s horcruxes. With her leather journal open in front of her, it was like reading a series of books written about her life. She had been so thorough with her diaries during her years at Hogwarts that it was nearly an anthology.

His quiet voice only broke through hers on occasion; for either clarification or curiosity. He never pushed her, or probed where she did not invite him, although at moments of emotional distress during her story she could feel the sharp discomfort of Legilimency. She became thankful then, that she had insisted on learning Occlumency after the Department of Mysteries. It allowed her to lie under the pain of the Cruciatus to Bellatrix for one.

His contact was not hard or hurtful in the way she knew Legilimency to be. It was like he was just nudging her to see if she would let him in. Occlumency, being that she was self-taught, was not one of her strong suits, and she knew that if he wanted to get into her mind there was nothing she could do to stop him.

After the fifth time she could feel him on the outskirts of her mind, she rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I do wish you wouldn’t do that. I won’t be giving away my secrets and you can’t change my mind about this.” Her voice was short as she tried to swallow her temper down. Dumbledore just set his startling blue eyes on hers and frowned.

“Messing about in time is an incredibly dangerous task Ms. Granger. I understand the appeal of fixing everything that seems to have gone wrong…” Hermione’s anger rippled through her and she stood so quickly that her chair clattered to the ground.

“You. Do. Not. Understand. You have no idea what it was like…to fight for years to keep that boy safe…to keep my brother safe and to then have him die anyway. It was like I’d been holding my breath my entire life in hopes that one day I’d be able to breathe again but I never could. Losing Harry…it felt like I couldn’t breathe. Let me breathe again. Wouldn’t you do anything to protect Ariana? Even change time if you could?” It was a low question, and it was the first time she’d ever seen anger in those normally warm and kind eyes. She lowered her head as she righted herself, pulling the chair back to where it had been. Sitting down, she took a deep calming breathe. The pain of losing Harry still burned in her chest, but she was not the only person who’d ever lost someone.

“You are not very good at Occlumency. It will be well enough for most, but if you plan on keeping your secrets then you will need better training. I can train you for now, but I will endeavor to find you a teacher.” She couldn’t quite figure out which portion of his statement shocked her more. Not only was he personally offering to teach her Occlumency, but he wasn’t trying to dissuade her from her mission.

“You’re…going to give up that easy?” The utter disbelief in her voice came through as almost dismissive, so she quickly cleared her throat and rephrased. “I mean to say that I expected some grand lecture about time magic, a fight maybe.”

His hand, not shriveled and black like when she had last seen him alive in her time, stroked slowly through his long silvery white beard. For a moment his mouth opened like he might speak, but then it shut again before any sound escaped. Dumbledore looked thoughtful, carefully removing his half moon spectacles and cleaning them on the soft fabrics of his baby blue suit. Once he was satisfied that the clear glass was free of smudges and stains and perfectly clean once again, he placed them back on his nose and looked at her again.

“You seem to be of a very intelligent sort and I am nearly positive that you would not have chosen this path lightly. Even based on this alone…” He paused, gesturing to the journal that sat open in front of her next to her now cold cup of tea. “No I don’t think it would be a good use of my time to do so. I however must stress to you that the moment you step outside this house the future you came to me from will cease to exist. As of that moment, that Hermione Granger is dead.”

It was jarring. To think in such simple terms about what she had done. Her life would be different; she had prepared for that, but just how different had still yet to hit her. “I have arrangements planned for the Grangers. They are going to receive a very generous offer to start a practice in Australia. I…Harry left me some of his fortune when he…” Reaching an unsteady hand towards her forgotten tea, she took a phantom sip before she continued; letting the cold liquid cool her throat from the burn of that particular truth. “When he died. I transferred my portion to muggle currency. It’ll be enough to get them settled. I will…that is their baby Hermione will be born in September.”

Confusing as it was to talk about herself in the third person, Hermione continued on. “I would like to keep my name if I could. It is the only thing I have left. I’ve said my goodbyes to every part of my life, but…just let me keep this.”

He nodded his head slowly, so slowly that had Hermione not been staring intently at him she may have missed the movement altogether. She could see the weight of this knowledge on his shoulders…just one more thing that he knew that he would keep to himself for the greater good.

“Alright then Hermione Granger. What is your cover?” The way he asked it made it seem like he already expected that she had one; of course he was right.

“Hermione Jean Granger born September 19, 1960. I figured it was easiest to keep as much as I could the same. I thought for a long time about saying I was homeschooled, but I don’t know how to be anything other than a muggleborn. This part I will need your help with.” Her thorough research sounded so inhumane, reciting off names like they were nothing but information.

“A tricky thing then. Perhaps I can say that you were a sickly child so I arranged for you to have a tutor. You can’t have gone to Hogwarts. James may have been too caught up in the shenanigans he got up to with his friends, but Lily was observant and would’ve noticed you at some point.” It made sense, although it was going to be tricky finding someone who feasibly could’ve made Hermione as capable a witch as she was.

“Ah your walls have come down.” Hermione had been thinking so hard about her cover that she hadn’t been keeping up on blocking him from her mind. Just as quickly as he had entered it, she raised her barrier, imagining a giant stone blockade and a moat between her thoughts and the man in front of her.

“Never enter my mind without my permission again.” She hissed, surprising even herself with the ferocity of her anger. The air around her crackled as she tried desperately to contain the sudden bout of rage that had filled her. Her tea cup, which she had been holding, shattered as an outburst of accidental magic escaped from her fingers. “I’m…I’m sorry I didn’t…I don’t know what came over me.”

Blinking away the remains of her anger, she grabbed her wand from the hidden pocket on the inside sleeve of her jumper and cast a quick cleaning spell. Next, she cast reparo on the mug and watched as the pieces flowed back together, leaving no evidence it had even been shattered in the first place.

“I can promise you that I will not use legilimens on you again, but there is no one else in the Wizarding World who will likely make you that promise. You need to strengthen your shields. Study it until they’re up even in your sleep. As for the tutor situation, I will say I taught you myself. No one tracks my movements outside of Hogwarts and it will be simple enough to prove considering you have memories of me as your headmaster I would assume.” There was something calming about his familiarity, but at the same time, Hermione was hard-pressed to trust him fully. He thrived on keeping secrets, releasing only small details to those he deemed worthy. She had always wondered why they had to find the Horcruxes alone, but she would not ask him. In this timeline he didn’t even know they existed yet, and she wouldn’t be the one to tell him about it.

The man drew his teacup to his lips and took a long sip, the porcelain clanking slightly as he placed it back down on the table. “Time to begin your path then.” He stood swiftly, wrapping his outer robes back around himself in a flash, transforming back into the old man she’d known in her time. Without robes, it was almost as if she could forget that this man was her Dumbledore.

Hermione summoned her cloak from the master bedroom where she had left it and fastened the gold clasp around her neck. It was not exactly in fashion for the 1970s, but Harry had given it to her for her 16th birthday and she would not part with it. Her beaded bag too came flying from the other room a moment later, and she was ready to go.

Walking out of the front door, Hermione turned back as it closed behind them and activated several wards. They weren’t strong yet, but she would have more time to set them when she got back from wherever Dumbledore was leading her. The cobblestone path that lead from the Dumbledore’s front door back towards the village square was worn and faded, but still clicked under the contact with her heel.

A bubble began to fill her chest as Dumbledore brought her closer and closer to Potter Cottage. She remembered looking with wonder at the herbs being grown under the windowsills, and it became very real for her that she was about to meet Harry’s parents. The old man lifted his hand as he approached, wrapping his knuckles once then twice on the red oak door. After only a few moments for steady breaths, Hermione felt the air rush out of her lungs as Lily Potter opened the door. She was so young, younger even than Hermione herself at this point. Her hair was a less vibrant red than Ginny’s had been, almost a strawberry blonde rather than the natural ginger tones of the Weasleys. But what really shook Hermione to her core were her dazzling green eyes. 

All throughout their school days, Hermione overheard people telling Harry how much he had his mother’s eyes, but she never realized how true that was. She had to bite back a sob as those kind green eyes, so similar to the son she hadn’t even had yet.

“Dumbledore. And who is this?” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes as she turned towards Hermione. She was guarded, even now before everything; untrusting and at the ready for an attack. Hermione didn’t miss the way that she tucked her arms around her waist, likely to allow for her to grab her wand at a moment’s notice.

“I’m Hermione…Hermione Granger. I’m a new recruit.” It was a simple enough lie. Certainly in these troubled times. Her cover was that her family had been killed by death eaters, and one look at the anguish in her face as she made eye contact with her best friend’s other would convince any rational person that she was indeed in mourning.

“Yes. Ms. Granger has found herself in need of a new home so I have seen fit to allow her to stay in my old family home just across the way.” Hermione could see pity forming in Lily’s eyes, and she knew she couldn’t handle looking at her any more. Casting her eyes down, she pushed all thoughts of Harry out of her mind.

“And what caused this need? There have been plenty displaced by this war Dumbledore, and you’ve never offered your house to anyone else.” It was a reasonable suspicion, and Hermione had to applaud Lily’s quick thinking to question such a fact. 

“My family was killed in a death eater attack. I was…very sick as a child, so when my Hogwarts letter came, my parents were afraid I was too frail to go. Professor Dumbledore refused to let my magic remain dormant and uncontrolled, so he tutored me.” She felt herself adding in more emotion to her voice than she normally would, hoping her distress would distract the witch in front of her from her hesitation.

“Oh. I’m so sorry to hear that. You’re a muggleborn then? I am too.” It was easy, in their absence throughout Harry’s life, to forget that Lily Potter had indeed been a muggleborn. Now, standing in front of her, she felt a connection with the woman she had never known.

“Yes. She is quite remarkable however, learned more from books than I ever taught her. Brightest witch of her age, barring present company of course. Now I must leave you, but please acquaint yourselves. Ms. Granger will be assisting the Order full time now and it will be good to have a friend or two.” The way his eyes twinkled as he spoke were offset by a playful wink. Lily just rolled her eyes at him but opened the door further and gestured for Hermione to enter her home. The inside of the cottage was cozy, and Hermione was shocked at how stylish it was (considering that it was 1979 and home design was questionable at best). A pale floral loveseat was sandwiched between two comfy looking red armchairs. The coffee table was clear, showing off the metalwork of the legs. A tasteful blue patterned wallpaper adorned the walls, with sconces illuminating the space.

“You have a lovely home.” Hermione offered, settling herself down on a loveseat.

“Thank you. My husband has an eye for design, or maybe rather expensive taste. Whichever you prefer.” Lily’s laugh was different than Hermione imagined, barking and full. The sound sliced through her as she attempted to keep her cool. She couldn’t afford to freak out, not now.

“Dumbledore tells me that you are an auror, is your husband as well?” Hermione knew very well that both James and Lily were aurors, but it seemed to be the natural progression for their conversation.

“Yes actually. James should be back momentarily actually, he popped round the grocers to get some vegetables to go with dinner.” Imagining Harry in his silly aprons making them all dinner invaded her mind, and she shoved the memories away quickly, clearing her throat. “I am not a very trusting person naturally.” Lily warned, taking a seat in one of the armchairs across from Hermione. A tray flew behind her, settling on the coffee table before pouring two cups of tea.

“Dumbledore trusts you and to my husband that might be all he needs; Merlin knows if Albus Dumbledore said that clouds were made of Hippogriff farts James would believe him, but I…” Lily’s green eyes narrowed on Hermione, and the warm smile dropped to a cool expression and pursed lips. “I don’t take his word as law. Now give me one reason, any reason to trust you.”

Hermione considered the witch in front of her for a long time, surprised at her abrasive demeanor. She always imagined Lily to be shy and reserved, but this was the opposite; full of fire.

“Voldemort and his death eaters hurt my family, and there is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect the people I love. I couldn’t save them then, but I can save so many now. Lily I understand your hesitance, I’m new and you’ve never seen me before, but believe me that I want Voldemort dead more than anyone.” The sincerity of her statement rang true. Voldemort had hurt so many people she loved, there was no lying about that. The ginger witch’s severe gaze seemed to soften, and Lily leaned forward towards Hermione before taking her hand.

“We can use every wand in this fight. You can never be too careful about who you trust. Not saying I trust you just yet, but I’ll give you a chance to show me I can. I understand how you feel. I would die to protect who I love.” Hermione couldn’t stop herself from crying as the woman spoke. She would die to protect her family…to protect her son, to save his life, and he would die anyway. The world was unfair and cruel and the cruelest trick of all was killing Harry Potter after all he suffered through.

It was with Hermione in this bout of tears, being consoled by Lily Potter that James Potter walked into the room. He was taller than Harry had been, and less burdened. Lines were forming on the corners of his lips from laughing, and Hermione gulped back her cry as she almost called him Harry.

“James this is Hermione. Dumbledore is letting her stay in his family’s old house.” Leaning in to her husband, Lily kissed his cheek before clarifying. “Her family was killed by You-Know-Who and she’s joined the order to put old voldy in the ground.” 

James smiled brightly at that, crossing the room to shake Hermione’s hand. Her sobbing had lessened as Lily had spoken, leaving only her puffy red eyes and the tightness of her chest as evidence she had even done so. “Any friend of Albus Dumbledore is a friend of mine. Glad to have any help on our side of the war. Oh Lils, I ran into a stray on my way to the market and brought it home with me. Can we keep it?”

Hermione was about to ask what he meant when a large black dog padded into the room, running up to her and barking. Pretending to be adequately confused about what was happening, she yelped as the large canine began to lick at her face.

“Sirius Black you stop that this instant. She is a guest.” Lily was righteous and indignant, swatting at the dog with a nearby Daily Prophet she had rolled up. Sirius whined slightly before trotting back over to where James was and shifting. Standing in the Potter’s sitting room stark naked, was a younger Sirius Black. He had always been a handsome wizard but seeing him in front of her before Azkaban wore him down took Hermione’s breath away. A flush creeped up her cheeks as she realized he had just been licking her face.

“Sorry love, you know I can’t resist a beautiful woman.” His mischievous grey eyes winked at her, causing a shiver to travel down Hermione’s spine. She knew from her Sirius that this one did that all the time when meeting new people. In his grim form, he could smell that someone new was in the house from a mile away. 

“At least put on pants mate. I haven’t seen that much of you since Hogwarts.” James chided, placing the grocery bags in his arms down on the coffee table. Lily just huffed and grabbed the bags, storming out of the room.

“Oh come on Prongsy, I’m just putting on a little show.” Hermione just smirked at him, refusing to break the blistering eye contact he was making. He could be an arrogant prat when he wanted to, and she wasn’t certain she could see the man she’d known in the boy that stood naked in front of her.

“Not much to see is there.” She remarked, chuckling dismissively before standing. Looking to James with a kind smile, she grabbed her cloak. Lily had returned by then, throwing a coat at Sirius a little more violently than was necessary. “I’ll be going now. Thank you for the tea Lily. It was nice meeting you James. I look forward to working with you both.” Wrapping the red fabric around her shoulders, she prepared to make her way back to Dumbledore’s home…well her home she supposed now.

As she opened the door to leave, she looked over her shoulder back at Sirius, who was eyeing her with intrigue and something else…something hungry. “Oh and James, if you are going to bring in strays, do check them for fleas. Who knows where that dog’s been?”

Closing the door behind her, she refused to think about the consequences of that actions. It was May 2, 1979, and she had work to do.


	8. The Black Brothers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is charging forward with her plan for fixing the past, until she runs into not one but two thorns in her side; the Brothers Black.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow everyone. I've been just shocked by the amount of kudos and reviews I've gotten in the past few days. Its really motivating for writing to know you all like it, so here is another chapter. Thanks go out as always to my lovely alpha rotehexe who makes sure I'm not being too crazy.

Regulus Black was a harder man to find than Hermione expected. Of course, it didn’t help that Grimmauld Place seemed to be even more of a fortress than she expected. The old building was still nestled between numbers 11 and 13, but when she went to approach the door, it was like there was an unstoppable force preventing it. Wahlburga, the bigoted portrait, was alive and well in this time; cursing her son’s name while praising the other for being a death eater. The blue-painted bricks weren’t quite yet dingy, and every time Hermione looked at the faded navy blue door, she felt a pang of sadness. In another time, it had been her home; shared with those she loved the most. Now it was nothing but a means to an end.

He was likely using the floo to do most of his travelling, as Hermione had been stationed outside at a bench across the street for nearly a week now in various disguises. She had brewed a few months’ worth of Polyjuice for several people in case she needed it, and her favorite was an old pidgeon woman from the muggle part of London. No one paid any mind to an old woman feeding birds.

Her morning routine had become simple to follow. In the mornings, she would go on a run with Lily Potter, who she had never expected to be into fitness. Running was the one activity Hermione had where she could clear her head and not think about the eight million things she had to do, and Lily was an excellent partner for that. The red-headed witch was very easy for Hermione to get along with, and soon she even considered the woman a friend. Lily had even asked her to come over for Alice Longbottom’s birthday dinner, which Hermione had eagerly agreed to. Remus Lupin would definitely be there, and she had yet to contact the Remus Lupin of this time; she was in desperate need of her co-conspirator.

After her run, she would shower and get dressed in whatever costume she needed for that day’s disguise before eating breakfast and swallowing down some Polyjuice. The first few days of her reconnaissance were so dreadfully dull that she nearly fell asleep twice. By the fifth day of no movement at the home, Hermione was nearly ready to give up when a tall black dog padded its way over to her.

“Black.” She greeted, knowing that there was no point in trying to hide her identity from the animagus. Even if he couldn’t see who she was, he could definitely smell her; Polyjuice had never been designed to trick animals, just humans.

The large black beast growled at her for a moment before looking pointedly at a little gardening hut to her left. She cast her eyes furtively to the door that she had been watching for days and sighed loudly, collecting her brown bag of seed and smoothing her skirt before following the interruption to her plans. When she pushed open the door of the shed, she came face to face with a very angry looking Sirius who was once again naked.

“If you are going to remain in this form, I demand you wear pants.” Hermione complained, not wavering in her eye contact with the older man. He was an obstacle she hadn’t properly prepared for, and her breath hitched slightly when he smirked at her with that devilish crooked grin. In the future…the past…it was all still so confusing. In her time, Sirius had been handsome, but older and broken in a way that he never quite recovered from. This Sirius was so carefree, unburdened by over a decade in a prison designed to drive him mad.

“Fine.” He relented after Hermione’s glare refused to yield. If it was going to be a battle of wills with the bastard, then she would never give in. “But I’ll need you to conjure me some love. Left my wand and clothes back at my flat. Didn’t imagine I’d run into someone else snooping on my horrible family.”

He raised his hand to his hair, running his fingers through the bouncy black curls before meeting her eyes and winking at her. She had been trying desperately to not stare, but it was difficult. His chest was more sculpted than it had any right to be, owing probably to his work as an auror and his affinity for quidditch. Scatterings of delicate black ink fluttered across the pale expanse, and Hermione found herself staring at his tattoos. In her time, he’d had so many that she’d never gotten to see the details. Runes she didn’t recognize stretched down his left side; a paw print rested on his collarbone, mere centimeters away from an ornately detailed full moon. As her eyes travelled up from his collarbone, she saw the beginnings of his long black hair. Hair that hung haphazardly around his shoulders, drawing her eyes to his throat. Forcing her eyes back up to his, she brandished her wand from the hidden pocket of her skirt and conjured a decent enough pair of white boxers. It wasn’t her strongest magic, but they would at least cover him.

Sirius quickly put them on, giving her a smug smirk as he did so. When he was finally at least partially clothed, Hermione could feel the Polyjuice beginning to wear off, and her skin began to shrink and pull back together as she changed from the old woman to her normal self.

“Why were you spying on my family’s house? James and Lily may have Dumbledore’s word that you’re on our side, but I don’t trust that old coot.” There was a dangerous edge to Sirius’s voice, and she was taken aback by how angry he seemed. She knew from her time spent with him in the future that he was always very sensitive about Regulus.

“I have a mission, and it relies on your brother.” His pupils dilated at her mention of the younger Black, and an animalistic growl ripped from his throat. It took Hermione off guard, and she found herself scattering away from him, falling slightly back onto a stack of fertilizer sacks. She hadn’t lied to him, so this reaction must have been from a protective instinct towards Regulus.

Sirius, shaking his head as if to rid himself of the animal inside it, scrambled to offer her his hand. She swatted it away, pushing herself up by her elbows and brushing off the dirt that had attached itself to her skirt. Glaring at the man, she righted herself and continued. “Look I’m not looking to hurt your brother or put him in danger but I need to speak with him and nothing you can say or do is going to stop me.”

“I don’t give a fuck about my rubbish family or their shite ideals, but Reg…Reg was such a good kid. Only ever wanted to make our mum proud. He’s…he’s a good kid.” Hermione felt her edge soften a bit as she watched him shift uncomfortably. Clearly this was not a topic he was fond of speaking about. Sighing, she pinched the bridge of her nose, reminding herself that the only way to save Regulus was to intercept him before he went to the cave.

“You can care about him you know. No one will think less of you for still loving your death eater brother.” She hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but he looked so shallow in that moment, like a strong breeze might blow him away. His grey eyes shifted for a moment before he cleared his throat and returned to sneering at her.

“Well whatever Dumby has you doing, just protect Reg. He can still get out of this alive.” Before she could say anything more, he shifted back to his animagus form and took off running from the shed. Left alone with nothing but confusion about what exactly had just happened, Hermione pulled the flask of Polyjuice out of her bag and took a swig. Another hour of spying to do, she began the short walk back to her bench when a flash of black caught her eye.

At first, she thought it might be Sirius, but when her eyes focused more on the motion, she could see that it was decidedly not. The boy who stood on the stoop of Number 12 Grimmauld Place was so achingly similar to the troublesome animgus she’d met and yet so different. His black curly hair was closely cropped in a stylish manner rather than loose and flowing, and he wore a fashionable suit rather than Sirius’s preferred leather and punk rock t-shirts.

“Regulus…” She called out, the sound leaving her voice without her even realizing it. The wizard whipped his wand out, casting a suspicious glare at the source of the sound. Realizing that this might be her only chance to catch him, she took off running towards him. She managed to catch his sleeve before he reacted, pulling him against her as she apparated to the only place she could think of.

The Forest of Dean had not changed much from what she had seen it as in the 90s. It made her chuckle nervously to realize that this was the same place she had fled Grimmauld the last time as well. As she righted herself, she realized that Regulus had not only made the trip with her but was also holding his wand at her throat.

“Where are we? And who are you? And what do you want from me?” Hermione wondered why he hadn’t yet cursed her or killed her, but then she remembered that she was still in her old woman disguise.

“We’re in the Forest of Dean. I will tell you the rest, but you have to lower your wand. Trust me the last thing I want to do is harm you. Here, you can even hold my wand.” It was an incredibly vulnerable  (also possibly the most stupid and possibly deadly) thing to willingly offer your wand to another. He didn’t know she could do non-verbal magic, of course, but it was a clear sign of peace. She tried to put as much sincerity into her voice as possible. This whole mission needed him, it hinged on his cooperation. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled his wand away from her throat, keeping it trained on her as he backed away,

The crazed look of panic in his eyes broke her heart, and as she took in the boy in front of her, she realized just how young he was. Just a teenager being dragged into the darkest parts of the world on the whims of a madman. Hermione felt her fists clench as she swallowed her anger. She wouldn’t let Voldemort ruin any more lives.

Finally, he began to drop his arm, gnawing anxiously at his lips. She could see so much of Sirius in him; not the arsehole Sirius of this time, but the one she had known.

“My name is Hermione Granger and I need your help.”

“Granger. Are you from the Dagworth-Grangers? Didn’t think they had any young members. Dying out mother said.” His suspicious tone caught her a bit off-guard, and she had to remind herself that it was how he was raised to act. Nervousness pitted in her stomach and she could barely manage to look him in the eye as she spoke.

“No. I’m a muggleborn.” The fury in his eyes shocked her and she looked away as quickly as she could.

“A mudbl….” His voice cracked for a moment before he started again. “Muggleborn?! And you dared to touch me? Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kill you right now!” The words were crisp and enunciated, but Hermione had faith that he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t kill her because deep down below all the traditions and ideals he had been taught from birth was a kind and caring young man. Kreacher had made that very clear to her; the man master Regulus was when no one was looking.

“I promised Kreacher I would protect you. I told him you deserved better. Don’t let expectations of who you are supposed to be, keep you from being who you are. You are a good man Regulus Black; help me and I promise you that I will make sure you survive this war. If you help me, we can destroy Voldemort once and for all.” As she spoke, she had been approaching him slowly. His grey eyes were fixed on her as she grew closer, growing less distrustful and more confused as she did. When she said the Dark Lord’s name, he panicked fully.

“Kreacher…how…how could you possibly know my elf?” Bewilderment filled him as he began to step even further away from her.

“First I will need a vow. Nothing intense. I won’t make you swear not to kill me, just that you won’t repeat to anyone what I’m about to tell you. If you don’t like what I have to say then feel free to kill me, just hear me out first.” Her hands raised above her shoulders, holding out to him like a sign of surrender. The entire plan hinged on him listening to her now, and she would not let anything go wrong. Desperation permeated her stance, and her amber brown eyes looked half crazed as he took her in. He glanced briefly between her and her wand in his hand and resigned.

“Alright. I’ll listen to you, but I won’t guarantee that I won’t kill you.” Hermione nodded her head tightly, approaching him again; although this time slower and with his permission. The trees around them were bright and green with the spring air, and the sun was shining through the branches; an excellent place to make magic binding.

“The vow I am going to put us under is not quite as powerful as an Unbreakable Vow. We don’t need a binder, as the contract is just between you and I. Should you break the vow, your magic will become permanently stunted.” Hermione had discovered this particular spell in her research, and thought it would be a good incantation to become familiar with. Unbreakable vows were ideal, but they required a third person and she wanted to let as few people in on her secret as possible.

“You’re mad if you think I’m going to risk my magic for whatever secrets you hold. No, you need something of mine to go along. We both reveal secrets and then we both have something to lose.” Regulus looked…nervous? Hermione couldn’t quite place the emotion sitting just under the surface of the death eater’s indifference. He was a well trained Slytherin, but she had learned from Draco Malfoy just how painful playing the part you were born to play can be. If he had secrets, they were eating him alive.

“That’s only fair. Give me your hand.” He hesitated for a moment too long, and Hermione realized why he was uncertain. “My blood…your blood…we all bleed the same. Now give me your bloody hand.” Refusing to wait another moment for this pureblooded bigot to decide she was worthy enough to touch, she grabbed at his hand with a strong grip. She reached for her wand with her other hand and once the familiar hum of magic touched her fingers, she cast the spell. Yellow streams of light escaped the tip of her wand, wrapping itself three times around where Hermione and Regulus’s hands touched. 

The magic she incurred was old, based in the inherent magic of the earth. It was a promise. “I, Hermione Granger, do swear that I will hold the secrets Regulus Black reveals to me on this day for the rest of my life and all time thereafter.” As she spoke, the light tightened around her arm. It was not quite so painful as the Unbreakable Vow according to what she’d read, but it wasn’t pleasant; like jellyfish tentacles wrapping around her. Looking expectantly to Regulus, he repeated after her. “I, Regulus Black, do swear that I will hold the secrets Hermione Granger reveals to me on this day for the rest of my life and all the time thereafter.”

When he finished speaking, the light around their arms intensified to a near blinding glow before disappearing very suddenly, leaving no evidence behind that it had ever been there in the first place.

“Now tell me what secrets you’re hiding. How do you know my elf?” His voice was insistent, and Hermione realized that she hadn’t really planned what she would say to him. How does one even begin to explain a future so dark and dire?

“I know Kreacher because in the year 2004, I am his mistress.” Regulus’s jaw clicked as he glared at her, and his fingers tightened around his wand.

“Bullshite. You can’t be from the future. And even if I were to believe such rubbish, there is no way that Kreacher is owned by a mudblood. He serves the most noble house of Black.” There was true pride in his voice as he spoke, and she flinched slightly at his vulgar insults.

“The most ancient and noble house of Black is gone in 2004. Narcissa Malfoy and her son are the only two left. Bellatrix, you, Sirius…you’re all dead. You die a hero’s death Regulus. You die trying to stop Voldemort. You die to avenge Kreacher.” She hadn’t planned on telling him about his death quite so soon, but she didn’t like the look of his twitching fingers against his wand handle. If he was going to kill her, she needed to pull out her big guns sooner than planned.

Regulus stopped; stopped breathing, stopped moving his fingers on his wand, stopped looking at Hermione. “I’m…I’m dead.” All the color drained from the boy’s face and he dropped to his knees. From what Hermione had known about Regulus, he had never put even a toe out of line; yet she told him that he was to die fighting the one man he was always told to support.

“Yes. In November of this year Voldemort will come to you, asking to borrow your house elf. You allow him, of course, because who are you to deny your master. Kreacher…he tortures the poor elf, assuming that he will die in some cave along the coast. You call for him and Kreacher manages to escape, on the brink of death. When you see the condition he’s in, you demand  to know what happened, and when you are told you demand that he take you to that cave. You break through all the enchantments and collect the object Voldemort wanted so desperately to hide and you give it to Kreacher; you tell him to destroy it. On your way out of the cave you are overrun by inferi and you sink to the bottom of a cold and dark lake filled with malcontent and evil creatures.” Hermione’s voice shook with regret as she watched Regulus break down at her words. It is horrifying, to face not only your mortality but your future. She suddenly felt protective of the young boy, barely of age and yet pledged to die for a cause he doesn’t truly believe in.

“What…what does he hide? What could possibly be so important that I…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence. He was grasping, Hermione could tell. She’d seen Sirius like this before, when Harry came back after the last task.

“He uses Kreacher to help hide one of his horcruxes, and I need your help to destroy them.” Regulus’s face contorted with disgust, and he flinched at the word.

“He…horcruxes are horrifically dark. Not even the house of Black has dared dabble in such evil magic. There’s…there’s no way the Dark Lord made one.” He was so certain, that Hermione found herself wondering just how much he was privy to. Did he know how truly evil Voldemort was?

“No. No your Dark Lord didn’t make one. He’s made at least four already.  In my time he made seven total. ” Hermione’s voice was clear, perfectly enunciating her words. There was no doubt in her mind that he had already put pieces of his soul in the cup, diadem, diary, and ring. He likely either was about to make or had already made the locket.

“He’s…You say you need my help. How am I supposed to help you? What can I possibly do?” Regulus had seemed to recover from the shock of his death. This was more what she had been expecting; a Slytherin trying to figure out what was best for him to survive.

“I am both a muggleborn and unfamiliar to the pureblood circles. I would never be able to get close enough on my own to get to these horcruxes. He has entrusted them to his most inner circle. One is with your cousin Bellatrix and one is with Lucius. Another is in a shack near his childhood home and the last in Hogwarts. Unfortunately, I will need to wait for him to hide the locket to know if he’s made it.” Everything about the witch in front of him suddenly shifted, and Regulus watched as Hermione switched over to business mode. She was incredibly organized, well-disciplined and willing to do anything to stop Voldemort from hurting the people she loved.

“You mean to use me as bait? Or an errand boy collecting baubles for you?” The indignance in his voice cut into her, and she was reminded of the fact that he did not know who she was, or what she was capable of. No one in this time did. The name Hermione Granger had been synonymous with power and intelligence in her time, but now she was just some muggleborn girl making demands.

“I mean to use you to destroy Tom Riddle before he has the chance to kill hundreds of people. This man preaches blood purity to you but he himself is a half-blood. His father was a muggle, a fact he tried to hide by killing him. He claims to promote the worthy and yet his reign eviscerates your house.” Hermione knew by this point to play into his Slytherin traits; his pride and self-preservation, even his blood prejudice. She could see his features tightened when she told him his precious Dark Lord was a dirty half blood. If there was one thing she could rely on from purebloods, it was prejudice.

“If I were to agree to help you – and I am categorically not – you will help me hide from the death eaters. I said I’d give you my secret so here it is. I bloody hate being a death eater. I never believed in the Dark Lord; I was barely finished with my sixth year at Hogwarts before they slapped that mark on my arm. If you promise to get me out of this fucking catastrophe alive then maybe…maybe I’ll help you. ” Running a hand through his neat hair making him seem a bit more like Sirius. Letting out a sigh he looked at her again. “ You can kill him? You’re absolutely sure?”

“I’ve done it before Black, and I mean to do it again.” With a cold smile, Hermione held her hand out to the skeptical boy in front of her. He swallowed tightly as he looked at her and the resignation that had been emanating from him seemed to dissipate. His fingers connected with hers and they made a promise…no vows, no blood magic, just a promise to destroy the man who’d destroyed both of their lives.


	9. Blood is Thicker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Regulus have agreed to work together and now begin to plan for the insurmountable task of trying to destroy Voldemort's soul once and for all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for your continued support! Life has been a little hectic, but no worries, I am still working on this story! Shout out to rotehexe for putting up with me being super bad at meeting my own deadlines. If you have any questions or comments, feel free to shoot me a message on my tumblr: weaverofdreams45.

The first major task of her mission to the past involved Bellatrix Lestrange’s vault; more specifically how they were even meant to get inside.

“I can’t just bloody well ask Bella to bring me along with her to Gringotts. Barely talk to the bint as is. Even by my family’s standards she’s a crazy bitch.” Regulus shivered as he spoke, and Hermione was glad to see that her insanity was recognized even among the bad guys. “Can’t we just use Polyjuice? Quick in and out.”

“I’ve already told you, there’s a waterfall on the way to the vaults that will undo any and all enchantments…” Regulus seemed to open his mouth as to interrupt but Hermione just held up her hand to stop him. “It would undo an imperius as well. Not to mention we’d need her wand and her vault key if we don’t want to be suspicious. Trust me, I’ve done this once before. We need a legitimate way to get inside the vault. Now your grandfather Cygnus, is he still alive or is your father head of your house?” She knew from her research that Cygnus, Orion, and Regulus all died in the same year; a particularly bad one for the House of Black.

“That old codger is still alive somehow. He’ll never take me on a leisurely trip through the family’s vaults. And Bella’s vault is under the Lestranges now, so we’d need either Bella, Rab or Rodolphus to get in.” They were in the study of Grimmauld Place and everywhere she looked was disconcerting. It wasn’t her study…not yet, but everything felt the same (except for the overwhelming feeling of dark magic lingering in the wood).

She worried about being in the same house as Wahlburga, but Regulus insisted that this study was the most secure location possible for their meetings. Blood wards as well as dark magic prevented any listening spells or enchantments inside the room. Still as a precaution, she would transfigure her hair and eyes to be different colors when she entered the house. They always planned these meetings for when his mother was at tea and his father was off at the Wizengamot, but if the war taught Hermione anything it was that you can never be too careful.

So that was what brought them to Regulus’s study on this muggy June morning. Hermione had already been in the past for over a month and yet she felt like she wasn’t getting anywhere. She wanted to have at least one horcrux destroyed before Voldemort called on Kreacher in November.

There were at least three levels of difficulty in destroying the horcruxes this time around: having to wait until he hid the locket, having to collect the other ones that are already hidden, and figuring out how to destroy them. Of course she could try and break into the Chamber of Secrets like Ron had during the Battle of Hogwarts, but Hermione would not bet that would work again as she hadn’t expected it to work the first time. There was no goblin-wrought blade soaked in basilisk venom this time around and she would never be so careless as to cast fiendfyre without thorough training. On top of all of that, the only wizard she knew was capable of controlling the blaze she didn’t trust enough to share with. 

She was nearly ripping her hair out from the stress of her quest when she felt him approach her. “Why don’t we just focus our energies on Lucius for now? My cousin’s husband may be inner circle, but he’s also incredibly proud. It wouldn’t be difficult to trick him into letting me into his study.” If Hermione was honest with herself, it was a better plan to worry about the cup last, but there was a nagging feeling in her chest telling her that she needed to get that particular one first. She already had scheduled a meeting between herself and Dumbledore at Hogwarts after the term ended so she could go look for the diadem. By far the diary and the cup were her biggest problems. The ring, the locket and the diadem were either readily accessible or planned.

“Alright…I suppose you’re right.” It was a concession to push aside her goal for now, but it felt suspiciously like the first step towards defeat. When she had planned her trip, she knew that it wouldn’t be easy, but it was surprising her how hard everything was.

“So lets go over it again. The thing I’m looking for is a diary?” Regulus unlocked the hinge on the globe in the center of the room and opened it to reveal the secret bar that Hermione remembered from her time. Decanters of crystal sat snugly in the small space, filled with a bright amber liquid that Hermione recognized immediately as firewhiskey. She smirked and chuckled to herself about the predictability of purebloods; it also made her wonder if their opinions on muggles would change if they knew how much better their liquor was.

The gentleman he was, he offered her a glass first, but she declined desiring neither the burn of the alcohol nor being drunk in the middle of the day. She didn’t have time for anything but a clear mind. Regulus shrugged his shoulders at her, pouring himself a glass and drinking half of it in one swig. It seemed that an affinity for whiskey ran in the blood of the Black family brothers. There were many days where Hermione had crept down from her room at Grimmauld Place in the middle of the night only to find Sirius passed out on the settee, having drunk away the memories and pain.

“Yes.” Hermione watched, her voice tight as she fixed her frustrated glare on a bit of wallpaper in the top left corner of the room that was peeling. “Its black, of a normal size for a journal. The corners are gilded in a gold leaf and Tom Marvolo Riddle is engraved on the front. When you open it, it will appear blank but that’s not the case. That piece of his soul is 16, and very charming; not naïve, but innocent still in a way.” Flashes of her second year came to the front of her mind and she flinched as she remembered the cold yellow eyes of the Basilisk reflecting in the hand-held mirror she’d had. 

“Merlin. To believe the Dark Lord created one horcrux is insane enough, but to make one in school…” He didn’t need to finish his statement, a cold shiver running down his spine. He took another swig of his drink and plopped himself back down in the large leather chair behind the desk. Holding the glass up to the light streaming in through the small window on the far wall, he watched his firewhiskey swirl as he moved it in his hand. “Lucius won’t know what it is?”

Hermione frowned, shaking her head tightly. “He knows that Voldemort has entrusted him with it, but he doesn’t know it contains a piece of his soul.” Part of her investigative work and research prior to her trip was a visit to Lucius Malfoy in Azkaban. She had hated every moment she had spent in that terrifying prison, but it was fruitful. “I have it on good authority that it is in his study hidden behind a secret opening behind one of his bookshelves that contains a vault. You’ll need his wand and magic signature to unlock it.” Her eyes met his suddenly, and the unspoken implications of her words expressed themselves with the arch of her eyebrow and the tightness of her lips.

“The imperius then.” Regulus responded, the concept of using an Unforgiveable curse not even phasing him. Hermione wasn’t even so certain that they were so bad anymore; not after what she’d seen…what she’d experienced. A dull throbbing sensation radiated from her scar on her arm, and she sucked in a tight breath before casting a quick non-verbal cooling charm on it. The cursed blade Bellatrix had used left marks that would never heal.

“What’s that about?” The man across from her asked, his grey eyes watching intently as she re-sheathed her wand in the hidden pocket of her jumper. She had spent a good amount of time configuring similar pockets onto every piece of clothing she owned; never knowing when she might need to be able to conceal it. Hermione felt blood pool in her cheeks as she attempted to avoid the accusations in his eyes. It didn’t matter – not really – but for some reason shame enveloped her scar.

Pulling the sleeve of her jumper up, her forearm displayed a red word carved into the skin.  _ Mudblood _ . Regulus looked as if he might be sick for a moment before casting his eyes away from Hermione’s. She never doubted that he believed what he’d been taught his whole life about blood purity, but it seemed that seeing the physical effect of that prejudice was too much for his delicate sensibilities.

“It was Bellatrix…or will be Bellatrix…no I’ve already changed enough for that Hermione Granger to never encounter that madwoman. No, my parents are safely in Australia now; opening a new practice and all that. I’ll be born in three months.” Her voice dripped with sadness as she thought back on all she had lost. This time’s Hermione (if she was even called that) wouldn’t grow up in Kensington, wouldn’t go to Hogwarts, would hopefully never enter a world that tells her that she doesn’t belong in it.

Regulus shifted uncomfortably before standing and walking towards her. When he arrived in front of her, he went to his knees and grabbed her hand – although she noticed there was still hesitation in his movements before he did so. “I’m sorry Hermione. I’m so sorry.” His words were hollow though. He was sorry, certainly, but not for his beliefs or for standing by his family’s traditions of prejudice; no he was sorry that his crazy cousin had taken a cursed blade to her arm and carved into her a reminder that she would always be on the outside. Even now, sitting in a place that had once been her home, she felt an oppressive sense that she didn’t belong; as if the very walls of the house was trying to turn her away.

Suddenly, the air in the room seemed to grow tighter around her, pressing her lungs and making it difficult to draw a full breath. She recognized the beginnings of one of her attacks and stiffened. Hermione would not allow herself to have a panic attack…not here at least, not in front of him.

She stood shakily, finding enough strength somewhere to replace her transfigurations before saying her goodbyes. He made no effort to stop her, but a knowing gleam in his eyes lead her to believe that he knew something wasn’t quite right. Regulus lead her out of the study, keeping a slight distance. It wasn’t until fresh air hit her and the door of Grimmauld Place closed behind her. She couldn’t apparate; there was no way she wouldn’t splinch herself at this rate, so she focused her entire body on her breathing. Harry or Ron had always been there for her when her attacks came, but now she was alone; stuck in a time where they didn’t even exist yet.

That thought seemed to bring Hermione even closer to a breakdown, and she let her legs carry her somewhere while her mind fought back the demons. Soon, she found herself near a large tree whose expansive leaves blocked out almost all light from the sun. It was in a secluded portion of the park, and Hermione trusted that this was the best she could do under the circumstances. Casting a disillusionment charm around her, she let the pressure that had been gathering in her head consume her.

As soon as she lowered her barriers, she felt her chest collapse as she curled up into a ball. Broken and body-wrenching sobs burst from her lips as she struggled to bring in air. She felt like she was dying; in those moments, she always felt like she was dying. Hermione began to cough as the oxygen needed for her crying began to outweigh the air she could hold in her tight chest and soon she was gasping. Her brown eyes were closed tight as wet, hot tears streamed from her eyes. Time had begun to slip away from her and she was uncertain if it had been thirty seconds, ten minutes, or several hours.

A steady sound of approaching footsteps distracted her, and she forced her eyes open long enough to watch as a large black dog strutted up to her. There should have been no way anyone could find her there, but then again it wouldn’t be the first time she had underestimated Sirius Black.

His large grey eyes found hers, and she blinked rapidly as the tears that had been falling stung. She attempted to sit up, but she was shaking so badly that she could only manage to lean against a tall root. Without missing a beat, he approached her, nudging her arm with his nose and forcing himself between her and the tree. She leant against him, and she accepted his weight without much protest. His long black fur that hung shaggily around his body was soft under her touch and she grasped handfuls of his fur in her hands.

Hermione buried her face in his fur, losing herself in the new sensations. He was warm, and soft and his heart was beating at a much less erratic rate than hers. It must be part of the animagus magic, she concluded, that their hearts beat like a human. Soon she was breathing in and out to the rhythm of his heartbeat, and her shaking began to slow. After another ten minutes or so of sitting like this, her body stopped shaking entirely and her sobbing became less strained. He sat with her – letting her pet him softly – for as long as her tears lasted. When her breathing returned to normal and the only evidence that remained of her attack was the red puffiness of her eyes, he moved. Flicking his burning grey gaze over to hers, he bowed his head slightly before leaving her. She watched him go with a confused stare and she wondered if perhaps she knew less about Sirius Black than she ever expected.

* * *

When Hermione arrived back in Godric’s Hollow, she was desperate for a shower, pyjamas, and a hot cuppa; the universe seemed to have different plans. Her face was still slightly puffed as she walked the short distance from the apparition point to the gate of her home.

“Oh good you’re home!” Lily piped up, her high voice grating against Hermione’s ears as the headache that had been going away rang out its last tolls.

“Hi Lily. I’ve been having a rubbish day; was there something you needed?” Hermione made sure to paint on her best smile, pushing aside how exhausted she was from her ordeal. Lily, being the exceptional witch she was, was not tricked by her half-hearted attempts.

“What’s wrong? Have you been crying?” Concern filled the ginger woman’s voice, and she placed a light hand against Hermione’s cheek, stroking the area under her eyes – where her face was still puffy – lightly. “Let’s get you inside.” Lily didn’t ask permission to come over, and Hermione just rolled her eyes. Lily was so similar to Harry in some ways that it scared her. It was the first time she had had anyone over to her house, and it made her a little anxious to have Lily be there.

Hermione insisted on making the tea, giving herself some time to figure out what to tell Lily. It was simple enough to withhold details; say it was about her mission from Dumbledore, but a part of her truly wanted to just come apart. 

When the screeching whistle of the kettle rang throughout the small kitchen, Hermione brought two mugs into the small sitting room and handed one to Lily. The room had been lightened slightly by a few of Hermione’s personal touches; brighter curtains, a few comfy pillows she’d found at a nearby market, and her large bookshelf filled to the brim.

“I always did wonder what this house looked like. Its much more homey than I expected; likely thanks to you. Now…” Lily paused to blow on her tea before she took a tentative sip. “What’s going on? I’ve never even seen you look upset before much less like you’ve been sobbing.” Hermione weighed her options in that moment and being as close to the truth as possible seemed right.

“I miss home. I miss my family and my friends. This war has barely begun and I’ve already lost so much.” It was half true, maybe a bit more. Harry and Ron and Ginny and her parents and…well everyone ran through her mind. Some days it was like she couldn’t even remember what their voices sounded like. She’d already been in the past over a month and she was beginning to forget them.

Lily just nodded her head, reaching out her hand and offering Hermione no solutions or words of comfort; just listening and commiserating. She didn’t need to explain to Lily how badly loss hurt; remembering that Lily herself had lost her parents the year before. They sat like that for a while, Lily’s small hand clutching Hermione’s as they let their tea grow cold.

When finally the space in her chest began to warm, she turned to Lily and took in a deep breath. She cast a warming charm on their tea and leaned so her back was resting against the arm of the sofa. Lily copied her, wiggling her feet under Hermione’s bum until she relented (giggling) and allowed her to shove her feet under there.

“Oh I completely forgot. What did you need me for?” Thinking back on it, Lily had looked like she had been waiting for her when she arrived. The woman cracked a wide smile and laughed quietly to herself.

“I was going to ask you to help me finish getting ready for Alice’s party. Remember I asked you to come a few weeks ago. It’s at the Longbottom Manor which is all posh and fancy and wizardry and I needed another muggleborn to share in my despair.” Lily looked at her with wide pleading eyes – the same eyes Harry used on Hermione whenever he wanted help with his homework – and Hermione knew that she could never say no. She may not have been the biggest girly-girl in the world, but she would do anything when those green eyes were fixed on hers.

“You are a terrible friend.” Hermione pouted, narrowing her eyes slightly. “You did not tell me that this was a dress up party. I have half a mind not to even go” She remembered when Lily had invited her, and she knew that there had been no mention of it being posh or fancy. Hermione really should’ve guessed though because they were purebloods and even Augusta Longbottom had strict expectations of what that meant.

“Yes but if I told you then you wouldn’t have agreed to come and I need a friend there. James is great and I love him very much, but he and Sirius are horrid company whenever there are other purebloods around; its like they’re back at school. Plus you’ll get to meet Remus. He’s only just got back from some assignment from Dumbledore. Oh you’ll love him! Say you’ll come!” The way Lily was looking at her lead her to believe there might be some matchmaking brewing in the ginger woman’s head, and Hermione had to bite her cheek to keep from laughing.

She knew she was fighting a losing battle because what Lily Potter wanted, Lily Potter got (much like her son). Relenting in a dramatic sigh, Hermione resigned the evening in her head. It wouldn’t be the complete loss of an evening of planning since Remus would be there.

“I don’t have anything to wear. All of my clothes are secondhand, and they don’t exactly sell ballgowns at Madam Regina’s Consignment Shop.” It was a weak argument, and Lily looked at her pointedly as if to point that out.

“Hermione you are aware that I am married to a pureblood; I have a closet full of gowns that I never wear. Come over to mine and we’ll make an afternoon of it. Please…normally I do this sort with Aly but its her party so she’s hardly available.” The idea of shopping for a ball gown in Lily’s closet did appeal to her and Hermione finally gave in. Lily squealed with delight before hugging her tightly. It was strange, to be hugging her dead best friend’s mother, but there was also something warm and familiar in the embrace.

“Alright you’ve won, now lets get dressed for the ball.”


	10. Belle of the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione never imagined that her secret mission to fix the past would involve her going to a pureblood’s fancy birthday gala, but there she was in a fancy dress and only one thought...who can she trust?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For all of you who are in the US, happy Thanksgiving! I’m very grateful for all of you for your kind words and generous support these stories mean so much to me, and it means the world to know that you are all enjoying it right along with me! Thankful especially for my alpha rotehexe who works super hard to make sure that this story is the best it can be

Lily was not exaggerating when she told Hermione she had a closet full of gowns. Potter Cottage was not large by any means, but the ginger witch had managed an extension charm on her upstairs wardrobe and it contained no less than fifteen elegant evening dresses. Lily and Hermione, who had successfully recovered from her panic attack earlier in the day (except for the lingering exhaustion but she would just have to sleep it off), argued for nearly an hour over just color alone.

“I’m rubbish at fabric transfiguration.” Hermione whined as Lily placed yet another dress in the no pile. One dark blue gown was next to it in a maybe pile,  which in comparison was tiny. and Lily seemed to be growing frustrated with her new friend. “Yes well I’m alright at it so just pick one you like and I can make it any color you want.” It had never occurred to Hermione, that in the past she would ever need to look nice. Fierce? Yes. Deadly? Absolutely. Beautiful? Not a chance.  She never thought going to a party would be part of her blending in.

“Ughhhhh.” She groaned, plopping ungracefully on the portion of the bed that wasn’t covered in tulle, taffeta, silk and chiffon. As much as she was growing fond of Lily, there was so much she needed to do. Regulus was waiting for Lucius’s birthday party in August to attempt to steal the diary, and every day that the horcruxes remained out there, Hermione’s heart hurt a little more. She didn’t have time for this…for frivolous things. Just as she was about to tell Lily so, a light weight was dropped on her chest.

Blue. The first thing Hermione noticed was that it was periwinkle blue; just like her Yule Ball dress. Nearly gasping aloud, she shot up, her curls falling in her face as she did so.

“So I take it you like it…” Lily teased, giggling slightly as Hermione’s jaw hung open. It was nearly identical in color to her original dress except for the slightly altered bust. The fabric was soft and sleek in her hands, and she could feel the hot tears stinging the sides of her eyes. Bouncing up on her heels, she hugged Lily tightly before fleeing to the bathroom to change.

The Yule Ball had been one of the only times in Hermione’s life that she had felt truly beautiful, and horcrux hunt be damned, she deserved to feel beautiful again.

Before undressing, she placed her wand on the sink, unwilling to be without it for even a moment in this time.  _ ‘Constant vigilance’ popped into her head. _ Stepping out of her denims and jumper that she had been wearing, she slipped the gown over her head and let it cascade down her body. The loose fabric of the bodice laid in a flattering way over her chest, showing off her figure more than she was used to before pulling up to a halter neck. There was a belt around her waist that she tied, bringing the thin fabric tight against her abdomen. Suddenly, she could see the effect that the running had on her body; a slit in the dress highlighting the tone of her leg muscles. This was not the Yule Ball dress she had worn as a child; no this was the dress of a grown woman. Admiring herself for another moment in disbelief, she was startled out of it when Lily pounded on the door.

“Oi! I want to see how you look too.” Her whining was muffled through the wood and Hermione snickered to herself before collecting her wand and charming her old clothes to fold themselves up neatly. Grabbing her (now folded) clothes and checking herself once more in the mirror, she stepped out. Lily’s eyes widened as Hermione opened the door.

“Damn Hermione. You look amazing. What do you think of mine?” Doing a small twirl, the ginger witch turned to reveal a simple one-sleeved muted red gown with a floral detail. It nearly gave the impression of fire as she turned and Hermione nodded her head in approval. 

“James won’t know what to do with himself.” Hermione teased, satisfied when Lily smiled smugly.

“That man never knows what to do with himself.” Lily retreated back into the walk in closet attached to the Potter’s master bedroom and began to look through her shoe collection. “Merlin I wish you could’ve seen him when I got back from my hen do. Alice and Marlene had…” Lily stopped short, and Hermione could feel the air in the room shift slightly. Before she could even investigate what had gone wrong, Lily continued. “Well they brought me out to some muggle nightclubs and Alice charmed my skirt so I couldn’t make it any longer. I swear I thought James might drop dead when I got home.” Emerging from the closet clutching a pair of chunky clear heels, Lily’s green eyes were still wide, but it felt forced; not quite meeting her eyes. Like there was a tidal wave of sadness being barely contained.

“Marlene’s not with us anymore is she?” Hermione knew the answer of course, the Order members of her time who had lived through the first war had spoken fondly of Marlene McKinnon. Especially Sirius. She had died some time during the beginnings of the war, but Hermione hadn’t been able to pin down when exactly.

“No. She…it was rotten luck. Random attack in Diagon. Wasn’t even on duty. She was one of my best friends; my roommate for all my schooling.” Lily sat on the edge of the bed facing away from Hermione, fastening her shoes with the determination of a woman trying desperately to hide her grief.

Hermione did all she could in the moment and placed a gentle hand on her back, rubbing circles with her thumb the way Harry had always done with her when she was upset or overwhelmed. Lily stiffened for a moment before leaning back into Hermione’s embrace. 

In that moment, comforting Lily Potter in the very house where she would be murdered in a little over two years, Hermione was distracted from her mission. These were no longer just blips in her plan, a task off her list of things to do; these were real people who were in immense pain. They sat like that for a few minutes, not talking, just feeling the comfort of a friend.

“Alright that’s enough pouting on my part. Marlene would be screaming at me to put at least another pound of makeup on. Let’s get ready. The best thing I can do to remember her is look sexy as hell.” It was like the tidal wave had receded back into the water and clear skies shone again when Hermione caught those green eyes again. It was amazing to her, how Lily could have lost so much and still be so optimistic. Hermione had lost one of her best friends and she had quite literally moved heaven and earth to get him back.

The next hour (which felt like twenty years to Hermione), consisted of about seventeen jars of Sleakeazey’s hair potion and 200 glamour charms that Lily insisted gave her a ‘natural look’. Once she was declared to be done by Lily, it was the ginger witch’s turn to get glammed. Hermione had only ever really done her own glamours, but there was a sense of comradery and trust that filled her when Lily closed her eyes and gave Hermione full control. Casting a series of spells to even her skin and added some pale pink eyeshadow. Once she was done with the eyeshadow, she gave the girl a very late 70’s cat-eye eyeliner that Hermione’s mother had favored when she was young. To complete the look, she added a muted pink lip gloss.

When she took a step back and turned Lily so they were both looking in the mirror, Hermione felt a clump form in her throat. Part of her felt almost as if this was where she belonged, a feeling that she had not had since she had come to the past. Lily was warm and funny and reminded Hermione so much of her best friend, and it was easy for her to get lost in that familiar closeness.

Without warning, Hermione wrapped her arms around Lily’s waist and pulled her into a tight hug. If there was one good thing that had come from this journey into the past, it was the chance for Hermione to get to know Lily Potter. The witch returned the favor, and the girls shared a brief moment of friendship before they stood to leave.

“Aren’t we waiting for James?” Hermione asked, securing her beaded bag that never left her side. The small heels Lily had managed to bully her into already hurt her feet, so she cast a quick soothing and cushioning charm to prevent herself from wanting to hack off her feet later. Lily just sighed and gave Hermione a look of exasperation that seemed more aimed at James than her.

“James is off getting ready with Sirius. No doubt plotting some unholy prank or mischief for the party. I swear those two have grown so much since Hogwarts but you’d never know it from the way they act around pureblood society.” Hermione nearly choked on her breath as Lily mentioned Sirius. She hadn’t planned on seeing him so soon after…well after everything. It wasn’t surprising to her that he had been around Grimmauld Place; she saw him staking it out in his animagus form nearly every time she went there to plan with Regulus.

A deep discomfort lodged itself in her stomach and she thought back to the feeling of warm, soft, black fur clutched in her hands as she shook and tried desperately to fill her lungs. Even in her time, only Harry and Ron (and later by extension of living in Grimmauld, Ginny) had ever known about her attacks. There was no telling what he would do with this information. Would he use it against her somehow? Tell everyone to humiliate her? But then why did he comfort her?

Millions of questions poked around Hermione’s mind and she forced them all to the back, refusing to think about it anymore. If there was one thing she could not waste her time doing, it was trying to figure out Sirius Black. “Alright then. Are we apparating or flooing?” Hermione asked, having successfully put her worries in a tiny corner of her mind behind a locked door. Her occlumency functioned almost like a hall of records, and that corner would be the darkest part of the basement.

“Flooing.” Lily responded quickly, grabbing a shawl to wrap around her shoulders and affixing a wand holster to her thigh before leading the way to the sitting room where the fireplace was located. In all her years of friendship with Neville, Hermione had never once even considered what Longbottom House may look like, and it shocked her when she saw it.

As they stepped out of the floo, she was met by ornate marble and ceilings as high as cathedrals. Delicate gold filligre and portraits lined the entrance hall and Hermione gasped.

“I know right. Nearly fainted when I first saw it. Fucking purebloods.” Lily’s vulgarity surprised Hermione out of her open-mouthed stupor and she trotted along unsteadily as the ginger witch made her way to where the music was coming from. As grand and opulent as the entrance hall had been, the ballroom was even five times more fancy. Lace streamers laid gracefully from the beams as transfigured doves made out of crystal flitted around. Beautiful purple and lavender flower arrangements towered over her, and trays of what looked to be giggle water floated along between the guests.

Before Hermione could inspect the room more fully, a high-pitched squeal broke out from the witch next to her. Lily, at a near run, surged forward and wrapped her arms around a tall brunette woman’s neck. “HAPPY BIRTHDAY ALI!!!” She yelled at the top of her lungs, and Hermione started flushing as the stuffier pureblooded guests either stared or stuck up their noses.

The woman, who Hermione instantly recognized as Alice Longbottom, just rolled her eyes and returned the hug. She had only ever met Neville’s parents the one time at St. Mungo’s, but this woman looked so different. A bright and warm smile that was just slightly lopsided broke out across her face, and her warm brown eyes met Hermione’s as she continued to hug Lily. Neville certainly took more after his father, but he had her smile.

“And whose this you brought with you Lils?” Alice asked, prying Lily’s arms off of her after it had been quite long enough. Lily pouted at having been removed but righted her dress and gestured. “This is Hermione Granger, remember I told you about the girl living in Dumbledore’s house?” Hermione was slightly uncomfortable with the idea that she had been discussed but smiled politely at the woman in front of her anyway. Her short brown hair was combed back with a cute barette, and she wore way too much dark eyeliner (for her time anyway, it was very on trend for the late 70s). Her dress was a navy-blue mermaid style dress with puffed sleeves and Hermione had to bite her tongue to not comment on how ugly she thought it was. Perhaps the worst part about coming to the past was that she would have to live through all the worst fashion trends she’d seen her parents partake in in photos.

“Oh yeah. Nice to meet you. Heard you put Black in his place when you met him, I’m a fan of anyone who can give that man a dressing down. Merlin knows his ego is too big for his head.” Alice laughed at her own joke loudly, and Hermione couldn’t help but laugh along. Thinking of Neville, she wondered how different he would’ve been if his parents had been around. Pushing back the twinge of sadness that came with thinking of her old friends, she continued to listen as Lily and Alice made small talk. About halfway through a story Alice was telling her about James, Remus, and a particularly nasty hickey, the man in question snaked his arm around Lily’s waist and kissed her on the cheek.

“You look more beautiful every time I see you. Marry me?” He asked her, his black hair disheveled in a way that only he and his son seemed to be able to pull off. His lips were pulled into a wide smile as he nuzzled into her neck. It was incredible, seeing just how in love they were; although it reminded her so much of Harry and Ginny and she had to take a deep breath to fight back her tears.

“We’re already married you idiot. Merlin knows why.” Lily teased, turning so she was facing him. He placed his other hand on her cheek and stroked it lightly. “Its because you’re madly in love with me.” Wiggling his eyebrows, Lily’s barely contained laughter burst through her lips and she shook with its force. “I do suppose that’s the reason. Care for a dance Mr. Potter?”

“After you, Mrs. Potter.” James took her hand and lead her to the far side of the room where some German sounding waltz was playing, and Hermione was left awkwardly alone with Alice.

“I swear I keep waiting for the honeymoon period to be over with those two and it just never is. Don’t get me wrong, I love Frank more than anything, but we’re just so different from those two.” Hermione just nodded her head in understanding. Lily and James were the kind of love that only came along once in a lifetime and she could see how intimidating it must be to be around people so in love.

“What’s that about loving me?” A new voice called from behind them, and the two witches turned to find Frank Longbottom standing there with Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. Her anxiety over seeing Sirius melted away at her joy in seeing Remus. He was much younger looking in this time, but he carried the look of exhaustion she knew came from having to transform without wolfsbane. His sandy blonde hair wasn’t quite yet peppered with grey, and the wrinkles on his face weren’t so pronounced. The full moon had only been a few days prior, and she could see a still healing scar on his lip. It took all her self-control to not reach out and wrap him in her arms.

Alice greeted her husband with a chaste kiss before placing her hand in the crook of his arm. “Frank, this is Hermione Granger. Hermione this is my husband Frank Longbottom. You’ve already met that scoundrel.” Sirius smirked at that description and held his head up high like he had just been given an award, before slowly moving his eyes to Hermione, who he seemed to be evaluating.

“I may be a scoundrel, but at least I’m a good one.” Sirius responded, sending a cheeky wink Hermione’s way; which caused Alice to laugh and Hermione to roll her eyes. “And this is Remus Lupin.” He held his hand out to her, and she took it with a shake, earning a chuckle of amusement from the group. Blushing, she remembered where she was and cursed herself.

“Sorry, I’m a muggleborn.” She hated using it as an excuse, but she had forgotten that men in the wizarding world still kissed women’s hands when being introduced like it was 1840. 

“A muggleborn witch living in Albus Dumbledore’s old house. Merlin I’d love to hear your story.” Frank joked, throwing his head back in a barking laugh. He looked a lot like his son, except for the rectangular glasses that sat on his nose. Remus, who had been staring at her with a calculated look of wonder, stiffened slightly at Frank’s statement, like something didn’t seem quite right to him. His eyes flashed gold in the way that they tended to when he smelled something amiss, and Hermione flicked her eyes away from his.

Hermione began to chew her lip, trying desperately to figure out both how to steer the conversation away from her past and how to get Remus alone to talk to him. It was Sirius Black, once again, that came to her rescue.

“Well I’ve just spotted my mother so its time for me to get a drink. Coming Remus?” The werewolf receded back into his brain, and Remus’s eyes once again returned to their natural greenish blue.

Shortly after they left, Alice and Frank were pulled away by a very insistent Augusta who seemed rather annoyed that they had been shirking their hosting duties in favor of chatting with their friends. Alice left her with a promise to find her later and talk more, and Hermione nodded politely before heading towards the tables.

Clutching her giggle water like it was a shield between her and the rest of the world, Hermione leaned back against a wall. She hadn’t expected the fatigue from her afternoon to hit her so soon, but all of her muscles suddenly felt like they might melt away. Taking deep calming breaths, she saw Lily approaching and made sure to look like she was having a good time.

James and Lily came tumbling towards her, out of breath from the particularly complicated waltz they had just completed, and Lily gestured for Hermione to sit next to her, resting her head on Hermione’s shoulder when she complied. “Augusta may be an old bat sometimes, but she does know how to throw a party.” James opened, handing Lily a glass of giggle water he had taken from a nearby tray. His hair was somehow even more messy than it had been when she’d last seen him, and both he and Lily looked a bit sweaty. Grabbing her wand from her bag, she cast a quick cooling charm on them both, earning a sigh of appreciation.

“Merlin you are brilliant you are.” Lily declared, fanning herself with one of the elaborately folded cream-coloured napkins on the table. “James we’re getting divorced. I’m marrying Hermione.” As if to show her undying love, Lily placed a sloppy kiss on Hermione’s cheek. Hermione, who was blushing heavily now, turned with horror to refute her claim, but James was laughing too hard to notice.

“And what if I don’t want to marry you?” Hermione choked out, finally deciding to play along rather than be embarrassed. It was what friends did…merlin they were her friends. The realization punched through her like a blow to the stomach, and all of her dread from her recent missteps was pushed aside by a renewed determination. This was why she was here, to protect these people.

“What’s this talk of marrying?” Another voice Hermione recognized instantly called from the side. She hadn’t truly taken the time to look him over when she’d first seen him because she had been floored by Remus, but now as he sauntered up to the table, her eyes widened. His long black hair was pulled back into a barely contained bun that hung low around his neck. Dress robes or black hung around his figure, and his chest was emphasized by just how many buttons he had left undone. Hermione was nearly certain that they had not been undone before.

James responded first, allowing Hermione time to compose herself. As much frivolity as she allowed, finding Sirius Black attractive was too much. “Oh don’t run away Padfoot. No one’s talking about marrying you. Unless Moony is reconsidering your proposal?” James looked with hopeful eyes at where Remus now approached them, and Sirius frowned at his best friend, smacking his chest lightly. Lily and Hermione shared a look before turning with renewed intrigue back to the boys.

“Proposal you say?” The smirk on Lily’s face was almost audible it was so smug, and Sirius glared at James hard; daring him to say one more word.

“Oh what’s that? Coming!” James feigned, absconding away from the conversation and towards where Frank was chatting animatedly with a man who looked suspiciously like young Arthur Weasley.

“Coward.” Lily called after him, making a quiet promise to Hermione to weasel it out of him later. Remus, who had joined them by then, shifted awkwardly on his feet and as the music softened to signify the end of a song, Hermione saw her chance. She had to get him alone. She had to tell him everything.

“Remus, would you care to dance?”


	11. Through the Wolf's Eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sirius reflects on the circumstances that resulted in his affiliation with this enigma of a curly-haired witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Here is a bit of a filler chapter with some Sirius POV. Don't worry, there is plenty more to come. I'm already working on my next backup chapter so you might get a new chapter sooner than normal. Thank you all for your kind feedback on this story!

The werewolf was stiff as she offered him her hand. His gaze remained skeptical, but he gave her the tiniest of nods. He was staggeringly taller than her, a fact that she had never really noticed before. Following his wide steps towards the dance floor, Hermione guided his hand to her waist before positioning herself. Close contact like this would have made 14-year-old Hermione blush deeply and run, but Hermione was not a child any longer. War and loss had hardened her, wrapping her spine in steel.

As they approached the dance floor, she was painfully aware how awkward this interaction was, and just how heavy the energy felt around them. She was of a nervous sort, and his wolf kept phasing in and out of control as he determined her threat level. They stood in the middle of the expansive dance floor, and arranged themselves to allow for the movement. His large hand felt hot against her side, and guilt over the secrets she carried gnawed away at her. How could she possibly tell this man that she came from a future where everyone he loved died? How could she look him in the eye and tell him that in her future he leaves his son an orphan to be watched after by an orphan who also died?

“Ms. Granger. I must admit that I am more thoroughly vexed by you than I expected. Frank said something about you living in Professor Dumbledore’s house; quite surprising behavior from our fearless leader.” There was a slight bitterness in his voice, and Hermione logged that away for later. It seemed that the marauders were not as devoted to the old man as she had expected. The music swelled around them, signaling that the dance had begun. Taking the opportunity to prepare her answers for his inevitable questions, she took a deep breath.

She closed her eyes heavily and opened them again, briefly letting the  notes of the orchestra pass through her. When she was a child, she had loved to dance, and who knew when she would ever be able to dance again. “You are hesitant towards me. I understand. I must smell quite suspicious to you.” It was a bold but true assertion. Gold replaced blue and Hermione knew she had set the wolf off; fiercely protective and territorial, it would be ascertaining whether she was a threat.

“You know.” Remus spoke, his voice cold as he emotionlessly twirled her. They were slowly moving closer to a series of large glass doors that lead to what looked to be a large balcony overlooking the carefully manicured grounds and expansive gardens.

“I know.” She echoed back, feeling his fingers tighten in a threatening way around her hand. Her Remus had been so careful, he would not take having a stranger know his secret lightly.

“Who told you?” He nearly growled, pulling her so close that she could feel the heat of his breath on her neck. The hair on her arms and the back of her neck stood at the proximity, sensing the immediate danger she could be in. Forcing herself to look into his eyes, brown fought against gold for dominance before she spoke.

“I figured it out for myself. In 1993 when you’re serving as the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor at Hogwarts.”

* * *

**~ Sirius POV ~**

Sirius Black had always hated Pureblood society events. When he was young, back when he was still a disgrace but not a disowned disgrace, his mother would wrestle with him kicking and screaming to force him into proper dress robes ‘fit for the heir to the most ancient and noble house of black’. What a load of shite all of it had been. 

Now Sirius loved the Longbottoms, but Augusta never had the strong stuff at her soirees. Periodically, the animagus would pull a black leather and silver gilded flask from the pocket of his robes and take a deep swig of firewhiskey. The burn of the alcohol had long since become a comfort for him, and as the numbness set in, the thoughts would push to the back of his mind.

Normally, he and James were attached at the hips at these parties. James, being the best friend a man could ask for, would warn Sirius when his mother was near and create a suitable distraction to get him as far away from that banshee as possible. Although he hated the woman and would gladly dance on the ground above her rotting body after her death, a pang of sadness rang throughout his chest as he watched his younger brother tote behind that bitch like a lapdog. He had always been such a happy child and then when Sirius had the audacity to be sorted into Gryffindor…to choose to be something more than just another prejudiced pureblood heir, all the twisted hopes and dreams of the House of Black were pressed onto Regulus’s young shoulders.

Sirius was content, for a while, to wander near the place that he had once called home just to make sure that he was alright…that he was alive, but then She had happened. The first time he smelt her, he knew that there was something special about her. It wasn’t the overwhelming scent of strawberries that emanated from her riotous curls or the clean smell of her soap, she smelled like she was a square peg trying desperately to fit into a round hole.

_ “Someone is in your house Prongs.” Sirius had spoken, lifting his nose into the air as he caught a whiff of an unfamiliar scent. James, who was holding two large bags of groceries from the market, stiffened and sniffed the air as well. It was mixed in with Dumbledore’s authoritative oaky aroma, and both animagi quickly backed down from their defensive stances. _

_ “Must be a new recruit. Maybe a young girl?” James wiggled his eyebrows as he looked at Sirius, earning a light shove from his friend. “I don’t need you or Lils to play matchmaker for me. Besides I could have any witch I wanted if I chose to.” _

_ “Sure you can Pads.” The shorter man teased, laughing quietly. He opened the gate at the end of the cobblestone path that led up to his house, and walked through. James and Lily’s home always felt warm in a way that he had never known as a child. It was like the very walls of the house welcomed you when you came in. Giving a nod to James, Sirius shifted into his animagus form. The transformation had become like a second skin to the playboy wizard; sometimes even more of a comfort than his normal form. _

_ “Oh come on Pads, you know Lil is gonna murder you.” Sirius’s large grey eyes looked up mockingly at James before strutting forward towards the sitting room. As he grew closer to the smell, the scent intensified. It was unlike anything he had smelled before, almost like she was a foreign entity invading the peace of his world. Following James into the sitting room, Padfoot launched himself at the girl, finally getting a good look at the source of the aroma. She was younger than he’d expected, with bushy brunette curls fluffing around her face. The jumper and denims she wore were modest enough, but what really captured him were her eyes. _

_ Looking up at her in his animagus form, he approached her and licked her face, having his fun with her reaction. There was something different about her movement, like she was putting on a show. Swallowing back another bark as he tasted the salty tears from her cheeks, Lily was glaring at him in a way that was both angry and loving. The witch had the nerve to swat his furry bum with a newspaper, and he trotted back over towards James before shifting. _

_ Normally, Sirius Black loved to revel in the looks of surprise and distress when he left his animagus form and returned to his human form. Especially considering that he wasn’t skilled enough at the transformation to take his clothes with him when he changed. _

_ Her eyes widened and her breath hitched as she took him in, and a beautiful red tone graced her cheeks. _

_ “Sorry love, you know I can’t resist a beautiful woman.” He sent the woman a cheeky wink and was satisfied when a shiver went down her spine. There was something knowing in her eyes though, and he found himself desiring to know more about this mysterious girl who smelled like how firewhiskey tastes. _

_ “At least put on pants mate. I haven’t seen that much of you since Hogwarts.” James spoke, breaking his friend out of the strong eye contact he had been having with the guest. Hermione, Sirius thought Lily had said. Beautiful. _

_ “Oh come on Prongsy, I’m just putting on a little show.” Sirius teased, returning his cool grey gaze to her strong honey one and smirking. It shocked him slightly, when there was not any timidness in her gaze but rather a challenge. As if she was saying ‘Is this the best you can do?’ _

_ “Not much to see is there.” Her response was so matter of fact, as if there was not a strange naked man in front of her, as if this was something she’d experienced before. Time seemed to stop for a moment as he stared after her as she gathered her coat, said goodbye to Lily and James and left. _

_ “Do you need some ice for that burn Pads?” Lily asked, sipping from her tea with a smug smile on her face. Sirius just placed his hand on James’s shoulder. _

_ “Why do I feel like my life is never going to be the same?” Sirius voiced asked almost distantly as he stared after the space where Hermione had been. His heart was racing as he clutched at the coat Lily had thrown at him. The world seemed to dim around him like darkness spreading as you get further away from a candle. She was a flame, burning hot and wild. And he wanted desperately to be burned. _

“Did you hear what I said Padfoot?” James’s baritone voice called to me from what felt like a much wider distance than the two chairs away. The song must’ve ended that he and Lily had been dancing to. Looking around briefly, he saw that Remus was leading Hermione rather abruptly towards the balcony windows. Every sense in his body heightened as he watched with careful eyes as his best friend and the mysterious woman left his line of sight.

“Padfoot?! You who!” His other best friend waved his hand in front of Sirius’s intense gaze and drew his eye away from whatever conversation was happening between Moony and Granger.

“What?!” Sirius growled out. He very rarely snapped, but when he did, James knew better than to take it seriously. “I’m sorry Prongs its just…I hate being at these fucking pureblooded piss parties. I love Aly and Frank but if I have to be in this room full of people who hate me for one more second I’m going to fucking lose it.” Standing so quickly that the expensive chairs Augusta Longbottom no doubt spent hours agonizing over the colour of toppled over, Sirius was desperate for air. He felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and Prongs was using his full strength to keep him from running away.

This was how he and James operated. He would always react in the strongest possible way and James would tell him to take even a moment to consider if it was a good decision. Pulling the familiar flask out of his pocket, he took a large swig. Offering his friend the clandestine drink, he wasn’t shocked when James simply shook his head and leaned in towards him.

“I hate these fucking things too mate, but don’t try to tell me you haven’t been staring at Hermione the whole night. You look at her…well Merlin I’ve never seen you look at a bird like that.” Lily smacked her husband’s chest hard and he gave her a loving apologetic look. Turning back to Sirius, he raised one of his eyebrows like he was waiting for a response.

Sirius sighed loudly, knowing James would never let it go. “I don’t know. There’s just something…different about her. Surely you can smell it.” James’s face softened slightly as he stared at Sirius. He was very skeptical of people naturally, owing to the loving way his shrew of a mother raised him. Blacks were not trusting people, and Sirius had more reason than most to believe the world was out to get him.

_ He had been unsure of her before he’d smelled her outside his childhood home, but he was downright apprehensive by that point. Then she had followed him to the little shed in the park near the home and she had said all the wrong things. Or all the right things. The things that he hoped in his heart but had never said out loud. He loved Regulus, his little brother. Even now that that bastard’s dark mark marred his skin, he loved him. _

_ In that moment, Sirius did the only thing he could, the thing he was raised to do; he pushed aside all of his emotions and made a joke. He had left her there, covered in dirt and confused, but he kept a closer eye after that. Her mission relied on Regulus…that’s what she had told him. It was incredibly surprising for him when Hermione (albeit a heavily transfigured version) approached 12 Grimmauld Place nervously for the third time that week. _

_ Visiting his childhood home had become more of a nervous habit than a reconnaissance mission, and he had expected another boring day waiting for her to exit the home when she emerged hours earlier than expected with tears running down her face. This woman who he’d never seen yield even slightly began to shake so furiously that it looked as if she might break. _

_ Sirius followed her, remaining in his animagus form, as she travelled to a secluded tree in the park. He watched her for a moment, taken aback by the wrenching sobs that overtook her. Never before had he seen someone break down like this, and it was only when her heartbeat began to weaken that he took hesitant steps forward. Her honey brown eyes opened partially as he approached her, and it weighed down on him how red they were. Nudging her shoulder, he invited her to rest her head on his fur. Long, lithe fingers wrapped tightly around his fur, and he allowed her to pet him as her heartbeat normalized and her tears dried into crusted streaks on her face. _

_ He left her, when he was certain that the worst had passed, looking back at her with a bow before he trotted off. Lily had said she’d lost her family because of the war, but it felt like something more. It felt like she was living with the weight of the world on her tiny shoulders. Perhaps he didn’t know as much about this witch as he’d assumed. _

“…and not the least of which is that Dumbledore trusts her.” Sirius toned back into James’s rant just at the end, not even pretending to have heard him. The air became thick as he remembered Hermione’s breakdown, and he became overwhelmed by all the things about that witch that didn’t make sense. Resigning that – short of eavesdropping on whatever conversation Remus and the witch were having – he would be unable to get any more answers at that moment, he took a deep breath.

Of course (because the universe was a cruel and unwavering bitch) it was in this moment that Walburga Black’s black snake eyes captured Sirius’s grey ones. Every ounce of that tiny woman burned with hatred as she looked at him, sitting there in his best dress robes with a muggleborn and a blood traitor. It was a moment of pride for him, to be able to look at that old bat with a wide smile. However, it only lasted a moment before his eyes shifted to the right and saw Regulus. He was thin, too thin, and plastering his performance smile on his face. Anyone who looked for a moment too long could see the wear and tear of pureblood society on his face. He was only 18 years old, yet he looked like a man well beyond those years.

“I need to…I just need to go.” Sirius warned, taking off towards the door. James and Lily both knew better than to stop him this time. His voice trailed behind him as he made his way out of the dining area of the ballroom and towards the main foyer. Bursting through the large oak doors, he ended up on the large marble stairs that lead from the front gardens to the inside of the house.

The outside air provided only minimal assistance to wash the scent of fucking orchids and strawberries from his nose. His flask weighed somehow even more heavily in his pocket empty than it had when it was full. Lily’s slightly high voice already rang in his ears, telling James that “there was no use talking to him when he gets in his moods”. The burn of the alcohol never lasted as long as he wanted it to. Lily told him that if he drank enough he would drink himself right into the grave.

Merlin he hoped she was right.

That was why Sirius was surprised when a distinct sound of footsteps approached him. His sense of smell had been turned down some by his drunkenness, but he could still smell that it was her. Her scent, mixed with Remus; like he had hugged her tightly. Suspicion crept in beneath his anger and it settled under his skin like a layer of armor. First Regulus and now Remus. What was this bloody witch up to?

“Clearly you didn’t speak with Lily before seeking me out. She’ll be the first to tell you that I am not worth it right now.”

“That’s assuming you’re ever worth it.”


	12. The Werewolf and the Dog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione recounts her meeting with Remus and Sirius wonders what his best friend is doing with the curly-haired witch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! This was a super hectic week! I won't be updating next week most likely due to Christmas coming up and some fests I've agreed to write for. As always, I would love to hear from you with any feedback you have!

“You know how to make a bloke feel good about himself, don't you?” Sirius bit out, not even turning to face her as she approached him. Her heels clipped lightly on the stone and marble steps as she approached him, and he didn’t contest it when she sat next to him.

“You don’t need me to make you feel good about yourself. Your head barely fits on your shoulders as is with all that ego in there. Besides, maybe I’m doing some running away ofmy own.” A soft chuckle escaped her lips, and she took off the oppressive heels Lily had insisted on. They sat there in silence for several moments, the warm chill of the night enveloping them as the silence grew more and more stifling. There was an unspoken tension between them, and Hermione debated within herself whether the animagus was too drunk to have a conversation with or not.

“Can we be serious for a moment?” Hermione asked, regretting her word choice immediately. Before the man with her could even respond, she cut him off. “Yes. You’re always Sirius. Its very funny. Moving on, can we?”

He considered her for a moment with brief shock. It wasn’t like it was a witty comeback or particularly clever, but it was his signature trick only known really by those close to him. How did this witch (with her magical smelling hair and her mysterious agenda) know about that? A pit of anger and mistrust stoked in his belly and he turned with a skeptical eye towards her. It was the first time he had really seen her since Frank had introduced Remus earlier and he was breath taken by her. Amber eyes sparkled in the starlight and the faint flush that stained her cheeks from the bit of drinking she had done was delicious.

“Urm…yeah. Sure. I’m not a very good conversationalist though.” Sirius responded, finding himself wishing that he hadn’t drained his flask so early. As if she had read his mind – and for all he knew she might have done – she reached into her small beaded bag and pulled out a flask of her own. The silver flashed in the moonlight as she drew it to her lips and held it out for him. It felt familiar for some reason, and had he been more sober, maybe he would have asked her more questions. But in this moment, he was content to just take this peace offering and speak with the woman.

“What do you want to talk about little witch?” He asked, raising the flask to his lips with the smallest of salutes to his savior.

“Thank you…for…well this morning I…thanks.” Hermione cast her eyes away, refusing to make eye contact with the animagus. Her panic attacks were an after effect of the war, a symptom of the pain she had suffered. Only three people in her life had ever learned about them, and they were all gone. Sirius didn’t speak for a long pause, allowing the woman next to him to grow more and more anxious with every heartbeat of quiet.

“I used to get them.” His voice seemed farther away than the few inches between them, and Hermione’s head snapped up. She had known the Sirius suffered from panic attacks, but she had always assumed they were the result of his imprisonment. It was disconcerting, in a way, to think about this Sirius that she considered unburdened, unbroken, to be so full of pain already. “I doubt you’ve had the privilege to meet her, but my mother is quite a…”

“Hard woman?” Hermione offered, trying to offer a polite description of the shrieking madwoman.

“I was going to say a blood purist cunt but I suppose she’s a hard woman too.” It was a joke, but there was so much pain and anger hiding behind his smile. Hermione felt a lump form in her throat as she fought the urge to hug him. This was not her Sirius…not really…not yet.

“Anyway, she used to…well she seemed to think that if she beat me enough or tortured me enough that I would yield; that I would become the picture-perfect pureblooded heir that she’d always wanted. Naturally, it didn’t work.” He toasted her again with the flask, but before he could bring it to his lips, her hand caught his. Her skin was soft and cold against the burning under his. She wondered for a moment if he would take his hand out from hers, if he would turn away from such a bold show of affection from someone he barely knew.

A moment passed and their hands remained. Another moment, and he lowered the flask. One last moment of silence passed before he closed the flask’s lid and handed it back to her. Confusion filled her features, but she didn’t fight him as she replaced the flask in her bag.

“I can smell that your talk with Remus went well. I don’t suppose I’m allowed to know what was talked about?” It was a joke, on the surface, but Sirius was burning with curiosity. Remus was kind, but he was also incredibly protective and instinctually territorial. The way he had been looking at her when he dragged her to the balcony…well he had worried whether the wolf had decided she was a threat.

Hermione stared off to the side then, a blank emptiness in her eyes. She shivered in the cold as if haunted by something, and Sirius wondered if she had even heard him.

* * *

“You have precisely four seconds to explain yourself before I do something I will regret.” Remus threatened, the gold tinged edge of his eyes nearly glowing as his wolf scratched and scraped his way to the surface. Hermione tried to swallow the large lump in her throat. As trusting as she was of Remus, she had seen him when he felt threatened before and it was terrifying.

“I’ll tell you everything, just not…” She paused for a moment, smiling politely at a couple who danced past them. “Not here.” She whispered, bringing her voice down to a breath and flicking her eyes towards the balcony doors. He grabbed her arm more tightly than he probably meant to and lead her harshly until they were alone outside. 

When they arrived, Hermione took out her wand and cast a locking charm on the doors as well as a muffling charm to prevent eavesdropping in case anyone noticed them leave. “Alright, you will find this hard to believe, but my name is Hermione Granger and I will be born in about two months.” He glared at her as she spoke, and she cleared her throat. “What I mean to say is that I am from the future.”

“And what reason would you possibly have to give that would make me believe you? You know of my…condition, but so does a known Death Eater. For all I know, you’re one of them and you’re being sent to spy on us.” He was looming over her now, and once again she was startled to realize how much taller than her he was. In this timeline he stood a little straighter, not bearing the weight of believing that his one of his best friends had killed two of his other best friends. Scars that she knew were from the twelve years Sirius spent in Azkaban were absent from his face, and his sandy blonde hair was less grey and shinier than it had been in her time. More handsome than even older photographs had shown, he was an intimidating sight; especially when one was facing down his wolf.

Snape knew…how had she forgotten that Snape knew about Remus somehow. She had approached him, during her first week in the past, but he had called her insane and turned away. Hope still filled her heart, knowing that he could have killed her or worse, but he let her go. The prophecy hadn’t been given yet. There was time for him to change his mind.

“James…” She spoke, desperately lost for words. It was the thing she had been looking forward to most, reconnecting with her mentor in the past, but now that she was staring him in the face, her brain was empty. Every thought she’d ever had seemed to leave her and she struggled to put together a coherent statement.

“James?” Remus spit, his eyes calculating as they moved over her small form. She knew what he would be thinking: she’s small, doesn’t pose a physical threat.

“I came back for James…no that’s…that’s not entirely true. I came back for the son that Lily and James will have. Harry…he’s born on the 31 st of July next year. He is…he was my best friend.” Tears burned at her eyes, and her throat was slick with the beginnings of a sob, but she closed her eyes and took a deep breath, having done more than enough crying for one day.

“So you came back for a child you claim to exist. Why?” Remus was still skeptical of her, but his body language was growing less threatening, which Hermione took as a personal victory.

“Harry grew up an orphan. James and Lily are murdered by…” She bit her tongue. When she had been making her plan to come back, she had debated for hours with Remus’s portrait about telling the marauders about Peter. Hermione had insisted they had the right to know, but Remus insisted that it would just break their hearts. Peter was a coward, but eventually she’d had to agree that telling them wouldn’t help her plan at all. “Voldemort is lead to their house by one of his followers. They die, but Voldemort’s final spell backfired off their son. Lily’s love protected him and Voldemort is defeated…well that’s what the world assumed.”

“He wasn’t defeated, and for the next 11 years Harry was raised by his horrible Aunt and Uncle. I met him…” Remus cut her off.

“Why them? I’ve met them and not to speak ill of people but…why not Sirius? Or me? Or Peter?” His confusion was clear to her, and it broke her heart.

“You ran off after their death. Sirius…well they think Sirius is the one who betrayed them. But he isn’t.” Her brown eyes looked at his like this knowledge was burning her, and if she looked at him long enough it would burn him too. “Sirius Black would never betray his friends. Never forget that Remus. He would rather die than betray his friends.”

She shivered then, a cool breeze cutting through the warm air as dusk began to fall around them. Unsurprisingly, based on how well she knew Remus from the past, he removed his outer robes and draped them over her shoulders. She would’ve protested, but she knew that he was always running way too hot and he likely had been stifling in them anyway. Pulling them closer to her, she took a deep breath. The pooling black fabric smelled like him, an earthy smell that had once reminded her of family…of home.

“You spin quite the tale, but I still have no guarantee that you aren’t making all of this up.” Remus was leaning now, his long thin body resting against the carved marble that served as a barrier between the balcony and the gardens just below. Ivy and vines snaked artfully up the columns, and Hermione was heartened to see the beautiful scene.

“That’s what my version of you said you would say. He said you’d be hesitant – skeptical even – and that I should tell you something. He promised me that there would be no way I could know about it.” She knew it was a bit childish to garner his curiosity before her big reveal, but the nerves of awaiting his approval were hitting her. Her entire plan functioned on the assumption that Remus would be on her side, that he would help her; she didn’t know what she would do if that fell apart.

“And what is this grand secret passcode that my future self passed on?” Remus’s tone was condescending, and even a bit mocking, as he regarded her. Hermione couldn’t blame him. It was a hard pill to swallow, and even in a world of magic, time magic was rare and often catastrophic.

“You told me that darkness is always the worst before the dawn. That it is the last thing you ever say to James.” The broken man who had told her that was echoed in the face of the man in front of her as shocked realization crossed his features. It was the first time that she could see the Remus of her time reflected back in the wizard who had followed her to the balcony.

“You…that’s…how do you…” He was stammering, struggling to comprehend that she wasn’t lying to him. His body reacted physically to her information, sinking down the decorative columns of the bannister until he was sat on the floor. Hermione hesitantly approached him and sat next to him, ensuring that he had enough room so as not to feel trapped.

“You can ask me anything you want, but I can’t guarantee I’ll answer. And you can’t tell anyone else about any of this; my time travel, James and Lily. We can’t risk Harry never being born or something changing.” It was a generous offer, and he nodded his head tightly at her. They sat quietly for several minutes as he thought of what he’d ask. She wondered as well, what his first question would be, but it surprised her.

“Is it better?” Remus asked, wringing his hands in between his knees as he watched them intently.

“Is what better?” Hermione asked, uncertain of just how deep the question went. It was loaded, and there was no right way to answer it.

“Everything…no…anything. Is anything better?”

“I wish I could say yes with a big smile on my face, but the truth is that its just…different. I did get some success with a Lycanthropy Bill of Rights, but I had to use every connection I had and it took three years before it was passed. It hadn’t even been implemented yet when…when Harry died. He had helped campaign for it.” A sad smile crossed the werewolf’s face before turning to a sneer.

“You were trying to help werewolves? Why? We’re…we’re dangerous.” It was an unsurprising thing for him to say, owing to his self-hatred over his condition. He always tried to remove himself from those nearest to him, spewing that he would just end up getting them hurt.

“You are dangerous precisely once a month for a few hours and actually, between you and I, a potion is currently in development that will allow you to keep your mind during the moon. I have a year’s supply at my home. Figured that once I convinced you I wasn’t insane you’d be interested in trying it…” Before Hermione could finish her statement, strong arms wrapped around her. At first, she thought she was in danger, but then she realized that he was hugging her tightly. His large frame nearly enveloped her in the embrace, and she reveled in the feeling of his familiar touch. Despite having his portrait to talk to, she had missed him more than she had realized.

“I’ll help. I’ll help you in whatever way I can. Whatever you need.” It was an emotional promise, and she just nodded into his shoulder, tightening as much as she could around his chest. Even though they were now the same age, Hermione couldn’t help but feel a sisterly connection with him; like he was an older brother sworn to protect her. For the first time since arriving in 1979, Hermione felt completely safe.

“Thank you Remus.” Hermione grabbed the large man’s hand, giving it a light squeeze as they separated. Looking at the watch on her wrist, she noticed they’d been gone for nearly half an hour. “We should rejoin the party. Lily will have made up some grand story if we’re gone much longer.”

Remus grimaced exaggeratedly, which made Hermione laugh. In the short time she had come to personally know Lily Potter, it had become painfully obvious that she was a force to be reckoned with. They both stood, and Hermione gave Remus back his robes. Wandlessly, she undid the enchantments she had placed, unaware of the gaping awe of the man she was with. Walking back into the ballroom, Hermione searched briefly for her friends before finding James and Lily.

Both stared off after a blur of motion in black, and she made the reasonable deduction that Sirius was fleeing. Before she could head off in his direction, Remus grabbed her arm, stopping her so short that she nearly tripped.

“Sirius…does he go to prison? Does he serve time in Azkaban?” He asked it of her like he’d never needed to know the answer to a question more, and an overwhelming feeling of guilt settled in her stomach. Hermione didn’t have to answer him, and she wasn’t even sure she could’ve. Lily and James approached them then, dragging them apart for dances.

Hermione didn’t relax when she and James began dancing, not only due to her conversation with Remus, but also due to her lingering discomfort with James. It was incredibly difficult to look at the man she was dancing with and not feel the stabbing pain of the loss of her best friend. She knew James was not Harry, she knew that, but it still hurt her.

“Why don’t you like me?” James asked, twirling Hermione at the proper moment and she blushed under his scrutiny. The intention had never been to make him think she didn’t like him.

“I like you.” She protested, concern and sincerity painted her features as she looked up at his eyes. His hazel – not green – eyes.

“Then why are you always more sad when you look at me.” The question hit her like a train, and she stiffened in his arms. Conversation about this couldn’t be avoided forever, and she would have to deal with her emotions about James soon but this moment was not the time for her to do it.

“You look like someone I loved…someone I lost.” Overwhelmed, she pushed away from him a little too harshly. “I have to go.” Her feet carried her in the direction that she’d seen Sirius go, and it wasn’t until she was approaching the animagus on the front steps that she even realized that she had been running to him.

“Clearly you didn’t speak with Lily before seeking me out. She’ll be the first to tell you that I am not worth it right now.”

“That’s assuming you’re ever worth it.”


	13. An Unforgivable Discussion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is the first meeting of Hermione's merry band of misfits and there is one goal: figure out how to get Tom Riddle's diary away from Lucius Malfoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy all! Sorry for the delay between chapters. I decided to take the holiday break off to spend time with my family but I am back to writing now. We're starting to get into the meat and potatoes of the story and I am super excited to see what you all think! Any comments or feedback is super appreciated!

“So we put him to sleep!” Remus Lupin yelled, his heavily tested patience finally wearing thin. It was the first time Hermione had invited both Regulus and Remus to her planning sessions, and it was going about as well as she had expected. Regulus, who looked more disheveled than his normal aristocratic pomp, slammed his fist down on the table in Hermione’s kitchen and she jumped as the teacups clattered.

“Stop thinking you’re above me because of your unwillingness to use Unforgiveables. We either Imperius Lucius or we don’t get the diary. There’s no way we could trick him into revealing it to us. He is far too cunning and not nearly trustworthy enough. Hermione said Narcissa doesn’t even know about it.” The heated argument had been going on for nearly ten minutes at this point, ever since Remus had asked how they planned on getting the diary out of the study in Malfoy Manor. Hermione threw her head back in resignation before finally snapping.

“Enough!!” Her voice carried across the space, earning a startled look from both the men. Remus at least had the decency to look ashamed about his childish behavior while Regulus just glared at the other man but pulled his lips together in a tight expression. “Remus, I do appreciate your devotion to not using the Unforgiveable curses, but Regulus is right. He’ll be more suspicious if we put him to sleep, especially because we need his magic signature to unlock the safe. Trust me, if there was any other way, I would’ve considered it.” She placed a warm hand over his on the table and watched as his shoulders released some of the tension there.

“And you…” She gritted out, pointing at Regulus angrily. “Stop being so smug. Unforgiveable curses are nothing to be proud of.”

“Fine. So we use an unforgiveable – and illegal – curse on Malfoy. What then? What’s the grand plan? It isn’t like they are going to welcome Hermione or I in with open arms. A werewolf and a muggleborn. We don’t exactly make for a Death Eater’s dream team.” He tipped the mug she’d offered him up to his mouth, taking a sip of his orange blossom green tea. She had bought some in preparation for this meeting, remembering how much he liked it.

Hermione’s guilty expression turned away from him, but not quickly enough to avoid detection. “What are you up to?” Remus whispered angrily, his voice coming out strained through the tightness of his throat. She could see he was straining to not get angry.

“So the Malfoys don’t exactly know who I am. Regulus was going to bring me…urm…as his guest to Narcissa’s birthday ball next week. I would be transfigured in disguise so there’s really no danger.” Hermione rushed through the last words, awaiting an explosion of rage from the werewolf. If there was one thing she could count on, even in the past, it was Remus Lupin’s violently protective instincts.

“You absolutely are not!” Remus insisted, earning an eye roll from Regulus, who had remained quietly brooding in the corner chair after being chastised. “It is far too dangerous…” Before Remus could continue, Hermione rose quietly, crossing the small distance that lay between them and placed her hands on either side of Remus’s chair. Trapping him in seemed silly, given their size difference, but her cold fury in that moment gave both the men pause.

“Every breath I take in this time is dangerous. My very existence is dangerous. I will not be preached to by you about what risks I can and cannot take. Regulus can get in certainly on his own, but this is my mission; this is MY plan, this is MY responsibility, and this is MY choice.” She never once raised her voice, letting the levelness of her tone and emphasis on certain words speak for itself. There was no room for questioning; no room for the potentials and the what ifs. Hermione Granger would be attending Narcissa Malfoy’s 24th birthday dinner and there was nothing anyone could do to stop her.

Regulus eyed Hermione with a strange look that crossed his face briefly before his indifferent boredom returned. His pouting had stopped, but he was still leaned back in his chair like he was waiting for a reason to leave. Remus seemed at war with the wolf within him, but eventually the bluish green won out against the gold.

“Fine. But I don’t like it.” She acknowledged the progress and sent a small nod his direction. “Noted.” 

Determining that her surprise for her colleagues would result in the ease of some tension, Hermione walked over to where her beaded bag sat on the faux granite countertops and pulled it open. Summoning three small gold coins from the bottom wordlessly, she handed one in turn to each of the men in her kitchen.

“Thanks, but I have enough gold. What is this for?” Regulus joked, sending her a smirk that for a moment made him look far too much like his older brother. Her heart jolted and her cheeks warmed as she sneered at the pompous and arrogant aristocrat.

“This is very specific gold.” She spat, glaring at the man still as she crossed the room and gave Remus his.

“Not to agree with Black in any way, but what is this for?” Remus’s questions was less mocking and more curious, pulling Hermione out of her daze of annoyance.

“So these are what I like to call Hermes coins. They are bewitched with a protean charm.” Feeling it was easier to show the men rather than explain it, she inscribed a message on the coin she retained in her right hand. _All is well_; she sent, waiting to see their reactions. Remus and Regulus both looked at the coins, waiting for something to happen. Remus was the first to notice the warming of the coin, and the message that appeared on the outer rim.

“Brilliant!” He praised, turning the coin over and over and over again to examine it. “Extraordinary magic.”

Regulus, who was staring at the coins with a similar bewilderment, seemed to have a seem of jealous anger running underneath his awe. “Clever. However did you think of it?” His voice was only slightly bitter by then, and Hermione smiled smugly. She could guess where his anger came from, and it was wholly to do with the fact that a muggleborn witch kept outmatching him in magic.

“Actually, I got the idea from your Dark Lord. His marks act in a similar way.” It was too casual, the way she shared that bit of information, and she watched as Remus’s jaw dropped. Regulus, still recovering from his wounded pride, seemed to wilt at the mention of the megalomaniac he served. She smiled sadly at him, trying to show him that she understood…that he reminded her so much of another boy she’d known who had no choice.

“Just because you’re marked doesn’t mean you belong to him.” She spoke, debating within herself whether it would be a worthwhile venture to try and give him a comforting hand. Unlike with Remus, Regulus still flinched under her touch. 

“Its kind of exactly what that means. I’ve made my bed. If I am going to be in his service, I might as well fuck his operation up as much as I can.” It was the first time Remus looked at Regulus like he wasn’t a threat…wasn’t secretly still on the dark side. He could see reflected in the boy’s grey eyes the same sad resignation that was all too familiar to the him; the same bitter resentfulness that lived at the very heart of the older Black brother.

“There was a boy…” Hermione began, closing her eyes. It was still incredibly difficult, talking about her past. Even if this past was not particularly pleasant. “He was cruel. Pompous. Egotistical and intelligent. Cunning. Wealthy. Pure-blooded. He was everything that I’d been told by the wizarding world was better. Better than me at least. His prejudice blinded him, and he was so proud to be coming up into the service of Voldemort – until he got there. Voldemort held his mother hostage in her own home. He used their manor as a headquarters for his evil empire. But do you know what I saw in his eyes when I saw him at the final battle?”

She waited: for Regulus to look at her, for Remus to let out the breath he’d been holding ever since she’d said the bastard’s name. Her eyes were heavy and stinging with the precursor to tears when she looked up at the younger Black.

“When I looked into his pale grey eyes, all I saw was misery. He was exhausted. We all almost died because of one of his friends, and in those final moments before Harry swooped in to save him, it looked like he would have welcomed death. He was marked, but he never did it for Voldemort. He did it for his family. He belonged to his family.”

Draco Malfoy had been different than she had expected, after Harry’s death. He had sought her out after the funeral, and they had shared a moment that she had never expected. The pompous, aristocratic bully apologized. While tears streamed down his face and he sobbed like a man lost to the world, he just kept telling her how sorry he was. Harry’s death hit him particularly hard. Guilt swelled in him over the fact that he was alive only because Harry was a better man than he would ever be.

Regulus reminded her so much of him in that moment – fragile underneath a thinly veiled attempt at confidence. Owing to the fact that her two closest friends were boys, Hermione could see the hidden emotions that brewed under the surface for these men. Remus was fiercely protective, intensely private, and loyal to a fault, but he also tried to push people away, seeing himself as nothing but a monster – a bomb that could explode at any moment. Regulus was…it was hard to describe. He was almost like a porcelain doll; as beautiful and fragile as he was proud. Like his brother, he used humor and a false persona of being a confident aristocrat to convince everyone in the world that he was fine. But she knew better.

“What…” Regulus paused for a moment, sipping absently from the tea in his hand that Hermione knew had to be cold by now. He clutched the old clay mug tightly in his hands, his knuckles stretching and turning white with the strain. “What happened to this boy? The one who wanted to protect his family.”

Hermione smiled at him, finally gaining the courage to stand from where she had been sitting to cross the room. She pulled her chair along behind her, wincing slightly as it scraped unpleasantly as she dragged it up next to him. Placing a tentative hand on his arm, she looked at him with her comforting brown eyes and waited for him to pull away, worried about her dirty blood contaminating him. When he sat still under her touch, she continued.

“He got married. Shortly before I left. He said he was going to be a better man. Seems I’ve rather mucked up his plan. When he’s born next June though I can be more hands on in making sure that he doesn’t grow up to be such a prick.” The small attempt at humor caused Regulus’s mouth to twitch up, although he quickly hid it. A realization hit in his eyes though, and once again his cool grey eyes were staring through her like she was transparent.

“Malfoy.” His voice was small as he put together the clues. Arrogant, wealthy, pureblooded. That could mean any number of people, but grey eyes…that was a uniquely Black trait. It wasn’t a hard leap to imagine that Bellatrix would likely never become a mother. Hermione shivered just imagining the woman raising a child; she would make Walburga look like the world’s best mom.

“Yes. Malfoy.” It wasn’t like she hadn’t already told them she was from the future, but something felt wrong about foretelling Draco’s birth. A pit grew in her stomach that she shouldn’t have said that, but before she could try and cover herself, Regulus shot up, nearly flinging the mug in his hand.

“Malfoy!!” He shouted at her and began pacing the kitchen.

“Yes, Malfoy, but you can’t tell him anyth…” Hermione’s planned lecture on the importance of not meddling in time was wasted though, as Regulus walked up to Remus (completely ignoring her).

“You win wolf. There will be no Imperius curse.” The way Regulus was smiling disconcerted Hermione slightly. It was the most genuine show of a happy emotion she’d ever seen from him, and she tilted her head slightly as she tried to follow him.

“As happy as I am to have won my argument, I must admit I don’t understand why. You both said it yourself, Lucius would never do it willingly.” Remus shifted slightly, likely reacting to just how close Regulus had gotten to him. The dark-haired man seemed to have had a renewal of energy as he bounded back towards Hermione before the werewolf had even finished speaking.

“Not for us no.” Placing his hands on her arms, he looked at her with a strange mix between a smile and a smirk; like a man possessed. “Lucius won’t do anything that isn’t in his best interest, so we just need to convince him that helping us is in his best interest.”

“And how do you propose we do that?” Remus asked, engaging in a non-shouting conversation with the man for the first time.

“You.” Regulus responded, pulling his hands away from Hermione’s arms and turning towards Remus. “Her. She’s the key.”

“Me?” Hermione’s voice was filled with confusion as she tried to process what Regulus was saying. A quick glance towards an equally confused Remus lead her to believe that maybe the man had just gone crazy.

“Yes you. I’ll introduce you to Lucius and you can explain who you are and where you’ve come from. He won’t believe, but that rich bastard has a penseive in his study. We’ll show him your memories of his son during your war and he’ll break.” There was something sinister in his eyes, and Hermione was reminded of the house that built this man. It would be cruel, to show the man the suffering of a son he had yet to meet, but even more than that…

“No.” Hermione’s voice was stern and unwavering as she crossed her arms. “Not yet.”

“What do you mean not yet you barmy witch?” Regulus’s face turned sour as he glared at the curly-haired witch in front of him.

“We can’t tell Lucius about his son. Not until at least the middle of September when Narcissa gets pregnant.” Regulus threw his hands up in exasperation, collapsing back into the chair that he had been sitting in. By now the tea he had been drinking sat ice cold on the counter, Hermione’s own cup not far away.

Hermione assumed a stance that she normally reserved for when Ron was being a knob or when Harry was making a foolish decision and began her lecture. “If we tell him now, we risk Draco never being born. I came back to save lives, not destroy them. I’m not…” Hermione took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of her nose as she attempted to stay calm. Regulus did not respond well to being chastised or yelled at, and this was too important to risk on her temper. “I’m not saying it’s a bad plan. It will even probably work, but we need to wait until at least mid-September. Early October would be even better.”

“She’s right Black. It is a good plan. If I know Lucius from the brief time I’ve spent around him, he will do anything for his family. Isn’t Lucius’s birthday in October?” Hermione shot a skeptical look at Remus, wondering where he was going with this.

“Yes. The 8th.” Regulus responded, although his voice carried the whining lilt of a child who didn’t get his way. Hermione hung her head in her hands then, at the choices she had to help her. Lucius would be a great ally, but she didn’t trust him. He was conniving and cunning and intelligent. When she had met with him in Azkaban before she had left, he made it seem like he was even more of a zealot for Riddle in this time than he had been in hers.

“Doesn’t Abraxas throw his son a large birthday gala each year? All of pureblood society is there. You’ll certainly be invited. Lay the groundwork at Narcissa’s ball. Schmooze with these people. Hermione will…” He paused, thinking for a moment. “Do you speak French?” He directed at her, and she blushed slightly.

“I know it, but not completely fluently. My parents used to take us for summer holidays along the coast. I’m conversational, but the purebloods will see right through me.” Hermione was miserable, to have to admit that her weakness in language cut a hole in what seemed to be a clearly forming plan. Regulus and Remus together were coming up with quite the plot.

“_How conversational?_” Regulus asked in French, Hermione noting that his accent was minimal and his voice lofty, as all good aristocratic children were taught.

“_It is a little clunky. I learned from the people in the town I visited. I have no formal education in the language._” Hermione responded, surprised by how few words she had to stumble over. Her speech was slow though, the sure sign of someone translating from one language in their head. Hermione then got an idea, calling on her most vivid memories of Fleur Weasley.

“I can speak in accented English. To avoid over-utilizing my French. I have…I knew someone who I can mimic. She went to Beauxbatons.” Regulus and Remus both looked at her, and then between them. Her French accent, she was ashamed to admit, was mostly developed from a period during her fifth year when she and Ginny had taken to mercilessly mocking Fleur when she wasn’t around. Hermione was embarrassed to admit that she had been jealous of the beautiful, poised, intelligent and powerful French witch.

“The accent is not bad. And I’ve seen her skills in transfiguration. We could pass her off as a French pureblooded witch with training. Although I must say you looked at the Longbottom’s like you have some society training. Of course, your personality is far too noticeably muggleborn. You’re abrasive in a way that no respectable pureblooded woman would dare to be…not until she’s married at least. Besides, Bella would sniff her out in a second if she didn’t have perfect manners.” The way his eyes roved over her like she was a prize at an auction or a pet he may consider buying boiled her blood. She could feel the tingles of her magic dancing across her fingertips like lightning under her skin, and she closed her eyes tight and counted to ten to avoid murdering the man right there.

“Kindly do fuck off Mr. Black.” She spat, stomping away from him as she left the kitchen in favor of the small sitting room. All she wanted to do was break something, but the only thing of hers that decorated the cold and distant space was a picture of her, Ron and Harry. It wasn’t often that she lost her temper to such a degree, but she could feel the heat of anger beneath her skin no matter what she did to calm herself.

She knew that it wasn’t Regulus’s clinical calculating eyes that had set her off. Sure she was angry about it, but the real issue was one she had been avoiding. Bellatrix. It was unavoidable; the fact that she would eventually come face to face with the cold, nearly black eyes of her attacker. Hermione would never forget the woman’s shrieks of laughter as she writhed underneath her, blood pooling out from her arm where the cursed knife had slit her skin.

She leaned her weight on the mantle of the fireplace that sat unlit in the center of the wall to her right, and reminded herself once more what this all was for. Harry. Everything she had done, everything she had to do, was to give Harry the life he deserved. She couldn’t…wouldn’t let her fears hold her back. Bellatrix was a weight that sat in her stomach every day, the scar she’d given Hermione still stinging despite having healed.

“Fine. You’re right. I’ll never pass for a pureblood as I am. Teach me how to be a proper pureblooded lady and we’ll test out the cover at Narcissa’s ball.” Regulus, who seemed to have realized when Hermione’s hand rubbed against the scar she had shown him why she had really gotten angry, lowered his head in understanding.

“You don’t have to. I can do it on my own.” It was a concession for the first time made out of guilt and compassion rather than condescension.

“No. This is my mission, and I will not let that bitch scare me. There is one key difference between then and now…” Hermione’s eyes were dark as she spoke, a spark igniting into a flame. Her fear had turned to anger, and that anger had turned into hatred.

“What’s that?” Regulus asked, his curiosity winning out as Hermione seemed content to let the thought die in her throat. Remus, who was confused about this entire conversation, eyed Hermione with a hesitant stare.

“This time I have nothing to lose.”


	14. Memories and Misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Regulus attend Narcissa Malfoy's birthday ball. Can Hermione handle wining and dining in the very house where she was tortured? For Harry...she can do anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So folks, I am getting really close to the start of the really dramatic part of the story (I know, WTH are you in for if the dramatic part hasn't even begun). The chapters are going to probably come quicker now as I have a very strong idea of what I am writing now. As always, thanks to Rotehexe for betaing and overall making sure I am not too evil in my writing. Any feedback is super, super appreciated, and I can't wait to see what y'all think of this!

Hermione was quite ashamed to say that she had entirely forgotten about Peter Pettigrew.

Not that he existed, no Merlin, she couldn’t forget his existence if she tried. No, she had forgotten that he existed in this time. Constant excuses revolving around his mother’s failing health seemed to keep him away from most gatherings, so even months into her mission, she had yet to meet the slimy little rat.

Which was why she was startled when she arrived at Lily and James’s cozy cottage for a dinner invitation and Peter Pettigrew sat in their kitchen. Not quite as pale and shaken as he had been in her time, he was still a chubby and portly man, rising to a height just above her own. Only 19 and already balding slightly, she couldn’t help but sneer when she caught sight of him.

“Oh Hermione! So happy you could make it. I don’t believe you’ve met Peter before. Hasn’t been able to get out much.” Lily’s kind eyes flashed along with her smile as she gestured for Hermione to come in. James, wearing an apron and looking far too much like his son, took her cloak and hung it up on a nearby hook. Shaking herself slightly to bring her back to her senses, Hermione did her best to paste a happy smile on her face.

“No, can’t say I’ve had the…pleasure.” The last word gritted out, like it was poisonous in her mouth. Recovering quickly, she crossed the Potter’s sitting room and offered her hand to the small cowardly man. He smiled up at her and regarded her hand with confusion. “Oh right…sorry. I’m a muggleborn. My dad always used to tell me that the proper thing to do was shake someone’s hand when you met them.” Peppering in the fact that she was muggleborn seemed to have set Peter on edge. Had he already begun spying for the death eaters? Was he even at this moment betraying his friends?

“Quite alright. I’m Peter. Lily has been telling me all about you. You sound like quite the fearsome foe.” He sipped at the tea in his hand quietly, and Hermione swallowed every urge she had to murder him on the spot. Anger swirled in her, and she could feel magic crackling in her hair as she tried to contain her hatred.

“If she is referring to that incident with Black, he shouldn’t have snuck up on me. Besides, that man has deserved a bat-bogey hex since I first met him. It is not a safe place to be though…on the other side of my wand that is.” Hermione stated her case matter-of-factly, hoping that her warning was clear. Her brown eyes bore into Pettigrew as if she was trying to burn a hole directly between his eyes through his brain, and if she wasn’t careful, her accidental magic might actually do just that.

Hermione amended her checklist during that dinner, as she sat, ate, and conversed with the man who had betrayed his friends…who had helped Voldemort kill Lily and James. Horcruxes were the most important. Without destroying the horcruxes, Voldemort would remain alive in some form. First the horcruxes, then Voldemort, then she would find Pettigrew in whatever shit-hole he would hide in and kill him herself. Voldemort’s death was for the greater good…to save lives and to protect the people she loved. Pettigrew…his death was for her.

* * *

The gown that Regulus had picked out for her to wear to Narcissa’s birthday ball was atrocious to say the least. It was part of her disguise though, to wear the stuffy fashions that were so popular among pureblood elites. Hermione’s cover was simple, her father was a ministry worker and her mother stayed at home; she’d tried to argue for the dignity of this fictional matron, but Regulus and Remus were both quick to point out that it would attract more attention if she claimed her mother was a career woman. Her name was to be Jolene Selwyn, as she knew from her research that they had French cousins and no one around her age to contradict her claim.

Stepping through the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor where the floos had been felt like a stab in Hermione’s stomach. Everywhere she turned, she was reminded about their brief time as prisoners during the war. It didn’t look the same, likely owing to Narcissa’s influence not being as strong yet. Abraxas Malfoy was still alive, and it was startling to Hermione how little he looked like his son. Where Lucius Malfoy was tall and thin with an aristocratic feel to his presence, much like his son Draco, Abraxas was short and broad, more muscle than man.

“Now darling, at least pretend to smile.” Regulus whispered in her ear. It sent chills down her spine, the closeness of his breath, and her eyes were drawn away from where the Malfoy family stood greeting guests. Stiffening her back in the way he had been relentlessly training her to do for the past week, she pulled her lips into a polite smile and leaned into his ear.

“I’m going to hex your bollocks off when I finally get out of this bloody dress.” Her voice denoted her displeasure at her garment, but her face was bright and gave away none of her disdain. He placed his hand on the small of her back and gently led her towards the crowds of purebloods. As this party was for Narcissa Malfoy, she naturally had to be their first stop, according to decorum.

“Narcissa.” Regulus greeted, pulling Hermione along beside him. The blonde woman turned elegantly and bowed her head to him. She was wearing a dark purple gown that more closely resembled the fashion of the 1870s than the 1970s. Puffed sleeves that Hermione had always thought to be ridiculous looked suave and stylish on the harsh woman. Narcissa Malfoy was more beautiful in her youth than she had been in her middle years, although she felt it wasn’t the most fair comparison owing to the fact that Narcissa had played host to a madman for a number of years by the time Hermione had met her.

“Regulus.” She greeted, curtsying slightly before kissing him on his right cheek and then the left. “And who is this you’ve brought with you? Surely not a potential suitor? Walburga has been most tight-lipped at the lady’s teas about your prospects.” Narcissa’s voice was more sing-songy than Hermione remembered it being, almost as if everything she said was an inside joke between you and her. It was easy to genuinely smile at the woman.

“Not a…” Looking over at Regulus, she did her best to look puzzled. “Urm…’ow do you say…girlfriend. ‘e ‘as been so kind as to ‘ost me on my visit. England is most beautiful.” Hermione knew she wasn’t the best actor, but there was something about the high stakes of the situation that made her into a professional. Her hair had been transfigured to appear blonde and straight, although not quite as bright as the Malfoy’s. Her eyes had been changed to appear blue, and she looked as close to Fleur Delacour as she could manage without Polyjuice.

“My name is Jolene Selwyn, it is a pleasure to meet you. And may I say ‘appy Birthday to you as well.” Hermione curtseyed quickly before returning to her stiff posture from before. She had nearly fallen over while bowing due to the oppressive restraint of her corset, but had managed to steady herself at the last second. Regulus, who had been watching her out of the corner of his eye, nodded nearly imperceptibly at her.

“Jolene and I met on my holiday in France. She is here as a cultural exchange of a sort. You’ll surely know of her great uncle.” Narcissa smiled politely, but Hermione could sense the grimace she was truly hiding. The Selwyns had been the perfect cover because they had never been a very sociable breed, and were quite estranged from their French counterparts. Horatio Selwyn, her so-called great uncle, was notoriously reclusive, and on the few occasions he found himself in pureblood society, was downright hostile.

“Ah yes. Horatio. I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him personally, but I’m told he’s quite…” Narcissa paused, and Hermione nearly laughed watching the witch find something pleasant to say about the old bastard. Pureblood politics had never quite made sense to her, but it was entertaining to watch the blonde witch attempt to be the perfect lady.

“He’s a barmy old codger and I won’t fault you for saying so.” Hermione joked, leaning into the blonde woman as if she was sharing a secret. Narcissa’s grey eyes grew wide, and she worried for a moment that she may have given herself away. Sending a quick panicked glance out of the side of her eye towards Regulus, he was stoic and tightlipped beside her.

Just as Hermione was calculating the nearest escape route, Narcissa burst out in a fit of giggles. “Oh I do like you. You can’t be dating Reggie of course, you are far too lovely. Come, let me introduce you to my husband. He must be somewhere around here.” It only took a few moments of searching to find Lucius Malfoy. He was hard to miss after all, his long platinum blonde hair nearly glowing in contrast to his black dress robes. There was so much similarity to Draco in his younger face that Hermione found herself missing home; a rather strange phenomena considering she was not even really friends with the boy.

Crossing the ballroom on the arm of the birthday girl drew more attention than Hermione had intended but getting into Narcissa’s (and thus her husband’s) good graces was more important than blending into the shadows. “Lucius…” Narcissa called, approaching her husband with her head bowed in reverence…another pureblood tradition that Hermione had no desire to partake in. “Sorry to interrupt your boys club, but this is a new friend of mine I thought you should meet. This is Jolene Selwyn. Jolene, this is my husband, Lucius Malfoy, scion of the house of Malfoy.”

Lucius Malfoy’s blue-ish grey eyes stared through Hermione like she was glass, and she was surprised how much suspicion and hostility hid underneath the thin veneer of his smile. He bowed to her, offering his hand, and Hermione nearly reached out to shake it. Realizing at the last moment that was not correct, she turned her hand motion into a swift curtsey and placed her hand in his. She hated him, certainly, but it was easier to deal with him now – having seen the broken shell of a man that she had left behind in Azkaban. This Lucius would never see the inside of a prison cell…not if he helped her.

“A pleasure to meet you my lord.” Hermione stated in her most airy tone. She had practiced with Regulus for hours the correct tone to sound like a proper pureblooded lady. There was so many rules, and the overly sweetened politeness shown to a scion of a Sacred 28 house was one of the more ridiculous ones.

“Not quite Lord yet.” Abraxas Malfoy interrupted, having approached their gathered group from the side. Before he could finish speaking, Hermione’s chest began to tighten in a new and painful sensation. This was not like any of her panic attacks…no she knew the signs of those. This was…something new entirely. The scar that ran down the center of her chest and across her abdomen burned like it was fresh, and it took all of her strength not to scream from the pain. It had been nearly a decade since that scar last hurt. Panicked eyes flashed up, surveying the new faces that joined her. It took only a moment to recognize the cold, hungry blue eyes of Antonin Dolohov.

“Do forgive me for intruding Lucius, but I am going to be leaving soon to discuss some business and I had not met our newest guest.” Abraxas snapped Hermione’s attention back to him, and her heart raced as the panic turned into a survival instinct.

“It is a pleasure to meet you Lord Malfoy. I am Jolene Selwyn.” Hermione blurted out, nervousness and uncertainty thicker in her voice than she had meant. Her eyes, subconsciously, flickered over to where Dolohov was standing behind Lucius to the left, eyeing her with a dark expression she didn’t even want to evaluate.

“The pleasure is all mine, Madam Selwyn. I see you’ve come tonight with young Regulus. Has someone finally made an honest man of the boy? Merlin knows his poor mother has been through enough with that blood-traitor she once called a son. A beautiful, young, pureblooded woman is just what the house of Black needs.” Hermione bit the inside of her cheek from scoffing at his assessment. _Sirius Black is 100 times the man you will ever be_, she thought to herself bitterly. She smiled kindly at him, although the fakeness of every emotion she displayed was starting to grate against her. Pulling her hand up to her ear, she tugged on her earring lightly twice – the signal she had established with Regulus that she needed him.

“You ‘re too kind Monsieur. You ‘ave a beautiful ‘ome. I am very grateful to Monsieur Black for escorting me this evening. The Malfoy family balls are renowned, even in France.” Her composure slipped, only for a fraction of a second when Antonin Dolohov stepped towards her.

“And you ain’t gonna introduce her to us Cissa?” He teased, not even looking at the blonde witch at all when he addressed her. Hermione’s blood ran cold as she wondered for the first time if he could feel the magic coming out of her wound like she could. With every millimeter he got closer, the dull, throbbing pain increased. Regulus, who had now joined Hermione’s side under the guise of having brought drinks, attempted to pull her away.

“Antonin, Lucius, Abraxas. I do hope you aren’t bothering Ms. Selwyn too much. I have promised to return her unscathed at the end of this evening.” Chuckles escaped many of those around her, but Hermione was focusing all her energy on not shaking as Dolohov took another step closer.

“Not bothering. My name is Antonin Dolohov. Would you care to dance Ms. Selwyn?” The predatory gaze in his eyes sent chills down her spine, and she evaluated her options in her head. If she refused him, it would be seen as a great dishonor to him and draw even more attention to her. But could she take the chance that he too felt the dark magic emanating from her chest. Resigned in her inevitably torment, she knew what choice she had to make.

“If my host is willing to part with me, then I would ‘appily dance.” Gazing at Regulus, she was hoping that he could see the terror hidden beneath her smile, but either he didn’t read it, or he had determined it was too much of a risk to say no because he nodded his head with a gesture to go ahead.

Slipping her hand around Antonin Dolohov’s forearm was perhaps the hardest thing Hermione had done all evening. Where at least she could understand Lucius Malfoy’s reasons behind becoming a death eater, Dolohov did it simply for the opportunity to be cruel.

They settled on the dance floor, his hand at the appropriate spot on her waist and her hand on his shoulder. When the music began to pick up, her feet moved like it was her natural order. Regulus had been a rather remarkable dance teacher, but she was still not quite as coordinated as she would’ve liked. Stumbling slightly during the first twirl, he kept an even tighter hold onto her.

“_I am uncertain what you are hiding, my dear, but be warned that I will find out._” His voice was deep and gruff as he spoke, whispering in her ear as if his threat was a sweet nothing. Hermione’s spine stiffened as he pulled away, and she responded as best she could.

“_Monsieur, I assure you I have nothing to hide. And I must wonder what I may have done to make you think so._” Playing innocent was her only option, out in the middle of the dance floor where nothing stood between her and this man she knew capable of murder. She’d seen him murder before, and the burning scar on her chest was proof that he would not hesitate if he found out who…what she really was.

“_You feel familiar to me witch. As if my magic runs through your veins. Seeing as how I am not married to you, I find that highly suspicious. That kind of connection only forms through marriage, or through some very dark magic indeed. False naivety may fool the rest of these pretentious and self-obsessed idiots, but I am not so easily tricked. I will be keeping a very close eye on you._” He spun her then, the song ending. It was the most she’d ever heard the Russian man speak, and there was something in his voice that turned her blood to ice.

“May I steal her back, Antonin?” Regulus asked, popping up beside them as the dancefloor cleared. Dolohov, who’s smile reminded her of the wolf in the old fairy tales her grandmother used to tell her, nodded his head respectfully, grabbing her hand to kiss it.

“_Remember what I’ve said lastachka._” His mouth lingered on her hand long after his lips had left it, and Hermione felt the burning sensation in her chest cool as he walked away from her. Every moment his eyes spent on her felt like a violation, like he was killing her all over again, and she could feel the tightness in her chest that she knew this time was an attack on the way.

“I need to leave. Right now.” Hermione managed to choke out, feeling her chest continue to tighten like a sponge that was being wrung out. Air became thin and her lungs refused to fill. Regulus must have understood the panic on her face and didn’t argue with her.

“I’ll floo you back to Grimmauld Place and then come back to give our apologies. Stay in the study until I get back.” She could only barely nod at him, his voice fading as she focused herself on her breathing. In the months she had been in the past, she’d been learning to cope with her attacks; their frequency had increased massively under the stress of the past.

Following along behind him, she could feel the pull of the floo on her navel and suddenly she was sitting in one of the oversized leather armchairs in the study of Grimmauld Place. All of her enchantments had cancelled once she entered the room, so her wild curls hung limply around her face. Regulus was gone the moment she was settled, and she let the new air filled with the scent of parchment and leather remind her of home. Burying her face in the crook of the chair and breathing in its aroma, her lungs slowly began to expand again. Avoiding an attack entirely was difficult, owing to the fact that even if she left the place it had been triggered in, it was her own emotions that caused the panic.

Being far away from Antonin Dolohov proved to exponentially help, and after only fifteen minutes or so, the hot sting of tears had faded from Hermione’s eyes and she could breath with mostly normal ease. She sat patiently, waiting for Regulus to return when she heard voices outside the door.

One, shrill and unpleasant, she recognized immediately as Walburga, but the other…

“If we don’t act quickly then we’ll never get another opportunity. Our source says that he’s waltzing around Diagon Alley like he has no concerns in the world. Cocky little bastard that son of yours.” Abraxas Malfoy’s voice had only become known to Hermione an hour or so before, but it was distinct, somehow gruff and lofty at the same time.

“He’s no son of mine. He can rot and die in a gutter for all I care. Regulus should’ve been my first born. Such a wonderful boy. Dutiful and obedient. Tell Rowle to go retrieve the blood traitor. He will be an excellent bargaining chip for the Dark Lord.” Walburga’s voice was distant now, but Hermione’s brain was processing what they were saying at a rapid speed. They were talking about Sirius…kidnapping Sirius. She grabbed a handful of floo powder and quickly travelled back to her home.

Not having time to undo its 8,000 buttons, she magically vanished her ridiculous pureblood costume and summoned her old combat boots, jeans, and a cotton Henley. Placing her worn and tattered black cloak she kept around for missions around her shoulders, she prepared to leave. Ready for action now, she apparated quickly to the center of Diagon Alley, searching furiously for the familiar head of curly hair that was in imminent danger, she walked frantically through the streets.

Her brown eyes were moving faster than her brain could process, and her gaze locked on him shortly before she heard the scream.


	15. Between a Black and a Hard Place

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione rushes to Diagon Alley to save Sirius, but can she save someone who doesn't know they're in danger?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Here is a little treat for you all since the next few chapters I am going to be a teensy weensie bit mean. But I promise that things will get better and I will make up for all the angst with some shameless fluff! Thanks to rotehexe who dials down my dramatic tendencies and reminds me that the characters deserve some happiness along the way.

She knew this was a horrible idea the moment she set foot in Diagon Alley, but the blood pounding in her ears kept her feet moving towards the wizard she was there to save. The child who was throwing a profound tantrum outside of Quality Quidditch Supplies screamed again, and Hermione’s blood ran cold at what she saw.

Sirius Black was just outside of Magical Menagerie when Hermione Granger spotted him. Thorfinn Rowle, cutting an intimidating figure even before the wrinkles and scars of the second wizarding war, had his wand firmly in his hand, facing the marauder’s direction. Running as quickly as her legs would carry her, she bounded forward through the crowd. Rowle, hidden by the bustling group of wizards preparing for their children to return to Hogwarts, did not see her.

Pulling up the hood of her worn gray cloak, she slowed her pace until she seemed to just be another face in the crowd. Rowle wouldn’t know her, or notice her as a threat, until it was too late if she played this right. Sirius was with Peter Pettigrew, and Hermione’s blood ran cold; she didn’t know if he was already a spy. By process of elimination, she assumed he must’ve been the source Abraxas Malfoy had referred to. Swallowing down her rage and desire to kill the loathsome, cowardly rat where he stood, she stepped as casually as she could towards the blonde man.

When she arrived where Rowle was standing, she stuck her wand into the small of his back. She was much smaller than he was, but there wasn’t much matter to size when you had the opportunity and the means to kill a man. “I would rethink your options.” Hermione warned, purposely pitching her voice down to sound more threatening and for a form of disguise. She grabbed hold of his arm and apparated him to the Forest of Dean – which had quickly become her destination for clandestine meetings and threats.

Rowle tried to turn to face her, and she could have laughed at how predictable he was. Before he could even think of what spell to cast at her, she had wordlessly disarmed him. Now holding both her vinewood wand and his cherry wand in her hand, the impossibly tall man’s glare seemed to falter.  _ Though she be but little, she be great _ , Hermione thought.

“You think me afraid of you? What is there to fear about a little girl?” All of his teeth reflected back at her when he smiled, and there was something so predatory in his gaze that a shiver ran down her spine. She pushed the tip of her wand into his neck, just under where his jaw sat.

“Give me one reason and I will you show you just how afraid of me you should be.” Hermione’s eyes were dark with rage, and the large death eater in front of her swallowed loudly.

“Who are you?” He demanded, backing up slowly as she pushed her wand into him more. By the time his back met stone, Hermione was laughing like a mad-woman.

“I am your Dark Lord’s worst nightmare.” Still with her wand to his throat, she took his wand and threw it into a crowded bit of thrush, trusting that the time it took him to retrieve it would be long enough to grab Sirius and apparate out of the busy shopping district. Before releasing him, she pulled him down by the front of his shirt to her height, looking directly into his eyes.

“Tell your Lord that he will have to do much better than you to hurt the people I care about.” Letting go of his shirt with a little shove, his height worked against him as he stumbled to the ground. The glare that he sent her way would’ve terrified her when she’d first encountered the man in her teenage years, but now she knew there were far worse things to fear.

Apparating back to the Alley, Hermione searched for where the irritatingly vulnerable man had gone. Oddly enough, it wasn’t Sirius, but Peter that she saw first. Outside Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream shop, Pettigrew was wiping his jumper where he had spilled his treat. It only took her four bounding steps to approach the duo, and another two seconds to realize that she couldn’t tell him the truth of why she was there…not in front of Peter.

“Oh hello boys.” Hermione greeted, smiling brightly at the two men. Sirius, who had been avoiding her since their talk at Alice’s party, politely nodded towards her. Peter, stupid man that he was, returned her bright smile. It boiled her blood to see him even now acting as if he was a friend.

“Hello Hermione. What brings you to the Alley today? Bit mad here with all the students about.” Peter spoke quickly, another drop of his ice cream getting on his jumper.

“Did Sirius not tell you? Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.” Hermione used her best teasing voice, even swatting lightly at Sirius’s arm. Pettigrew, she knew from her conversations with Remus in the future, was deeply uncomfortable with romantic relationships and would excuse himself if she did this right.

“Forgotten what?” Sirius asked, suspicion etching itself on his face at her behavior, and his body language tensed as she flirted with him. She’d never called him Sirius before; it was always Black.

“Our appointment silly. You were going to show me the sights.” Hermione forced herself to giggle girlishly in the way that Lavender had always done. Memory of her blonde roommate who perished in the war saddened her, and she wondered silently if there would ever be an end to the lives she wanted to save. Smiling emptily at Sirius, her eyes plead with him to go along with her without too many questions. Relenting with a near imperceptible nod, Sirius’s body relaxed.

“Oh yes. Sorry Pete. Forgot that I promised our little Hermione here a tour. Of course, you could join us if you wanted.” Sirius had meant it genuinely, but Hermione clenched. Her whole plan would be ruined if Peter joined their ‘outing’. Holding in a breath in anxiety, Hermione’s eyes darted around to see if any other death eaters might come for the Black family’s black sheep.

“No…that’s…urm…that’s quite alright. I must be getting home to mother anyway. You two enjoy yourselves.” The small figity man and his melted ice cream cone waved goodbye to them as he hurried off in the direction of the Leaky Cauldron, and Hermione let out the breath she had been holding. Sirius, who had dropped his debonair smile in favor of a skeptical scowl, grabbed Hermione’s arm tightly and dragged her to a nearby alley.

His grip was perhaps a little too tight, and Hermione grimaced when he released her harshly against the stone. Rubbing where his grip would likely bruise, she waited for him to say something.

“Why did you need to separate me from Peter? What are you even doing here? Did you follow me?” There was so much to notice in his stance that for a moment, Hermione couldn’t respond. Despite the scowl on his face, his wand was still in his pocket. His arms were crossed in front of his chest, but his feet were not spread, not planted…he was not preparing for a fight. It was clear that he trusted her…at least enough to think she wouldn’t attack him.

“I wasn’t the one following you.” Hermione’s eyes found Sirius’s, and she refused to let his angry grey eyes drive her away. In her past, Sirius had never mentioned being kidnapped, so she could assume that he escaped it somehow, but she couldn’t stand by and hope they failed. A feeling that she couldn’t identify caused her chest to clench every time she imagined Sirius in danger, and she pushed it back down into the depths once again. She didn’t have time for feelings of great depth…there was only room for anger and revenge.

“What is that supposed to mean? For once can you just be fucking up front. I’m not playing this game anymore little girl. You are going to tell me what’s going on.” His voice was so demanding, and Hermione flinched at his volume. She could see the anger radiating through his veins, but she couldn’t tell him…not the whole truth. When she hesitated to respond, he began to walk away from her.

“Your mother.” Those words stopped in his tracks. His mother…he joked about her, but bringing her up to him was like inviting a fight.

“My mother?” Sirius spat, approaching her until his face was not even inches from hers. If he took even one more step forward, their noses would be touching. “And what could that manipulative blood purist bitch have to do with you following me to Diagon Alley.”

“She got tipped off. I overheard her and Abraxas Malfoy talking. They knew where you were…someone was going to kidnap you. She said you’d make an excellent bargaining chip.” Hermione’s breath came quicker with every passing moment, feeling his threatening aura as the proximity continued. She hated herself for thinking it, but Sirius Black was bloody fit when he was angry.

His fist lifted and for the first time, Hermione wondered if he would hurt her. She closed her eyes tightly as he screamed, his clenched hand flying forward. Waiting, she expected pain, but it never came. Sirius’s hand met the brick of the wall and a painful crunch sounded. His scream of agony melded into his scream of anger, and Hermione hurried to catch him as he stumbled. Pulling away from her touch, he was stringing together so many expletives and cursewords that Hermione wondered where some of them had even come from…many she had never heard used in conjunction before.

“You need to go to St. Mungo’s.” Hermione responded after a quick evaluation. At least two of his knuckles were broken – likely a third – and his index finger was bent at an unnatural angle. He would need to apparrate to the hospital, and there was no way he wouldn’t splinch himself.

“Piss off. I’m fine. I’ve got some skelegro back at my flat.” Sirius informed her, pulling his hand out of her grip and clutching it to his chest. He couldn’t fool her though; she had helped Madam Pomfrey with healing after the last battle. She knew an injury when she saw one.

“Unless you want double the bones, you don’t need skelegro. You need pain potion and bone repair potion. Please Black…let me take you to St. Mungo’s. Never talk to me again if it makes you feel better, but please just let me take you to the hospital.” The animagus glared at her, looking briefly between her and his shattered hand, as if determining whether he really needed his hand. After a long silence, he relented, allowing her to wrap her arm around his.

Singular focus on St. Mungo’s filled her mind and with an uncomfortable pull at her bellybutton, they disappeared. Her grip on Sirius’s arm was tight as they reappeared in the sterile halls of St. Mungo’s. It hadn’t changed much by her time, the pale-yellow walls more comforting to her than she expected. The last time she had been in the hospital had been when she was making her time turner and she had exhausted herself magically.

“How can I help you?” A medi-witch in what appeared to be her late 20s that looked eerily familiar to Hermione greeted.

“Urm…” Hermione shook her head, pushing her need to identify the woman’s face away and pulling back what was important. “He’s broken his hand. At least two knuckles, maybe three. I think at least one of his fingers is also broken.”

Sirius, who had pushed away from her the moment they had arrived, grumbled something about what Hermione said being nonsense, which was put to bed quickly when the woman grabbed his hand and he drew in a sharp breath through his teeth and whimpered in pain.

“You’re likely right, although I think we may need to vanish some of his bones if the splinters are too small to knit back together. Let me get you in a room and then a healer will be with you shortly.” It was easy to follow the woman’s lime-green robes through the twisting corridors of the hospital. Hermione knew she had told Sirius she would leave after dropping him off, but a pain in her chest compelled her to stay and make sure he was alright.

After their fifth turn, they entered an open area with patient rooms along the walls. A large round desk stood in the center, bustling as healers-in-training and medi-witches and wizards traded files and talked at one million words a second. It was loud and fast-paced, and wholey unlike how the hospital was run in her time. The woman, still a mystery to Hermione, closed the door, effectively cutting off the outside world.

Sirius sat on the bed, as he had been instructed, thumbing at his hand like she imagined a wounded dog would. His face was a sad mix of anger and embarrassment, and finally Hermione realized that her presence may really be as unwelcome as he had said.

“I’ve dropped you off, so I suppose I’ll be going now.” There was a hint of sadness in her voice, and Hermione found herself considering again why exactly she was so attached to this man. In her time, he had been her friend, but in this time….

She drew in a deep breath and waited for a moment longer, taking in the man. Not for the first time, she wondered how so much anguish fit inside him; his own mother had just tried to have him kidnapped for Merlin’s sake. Grabbing her cloak from the chair she had draped it over, she held it in her hands like it was her most precious belonging…and perhaps it was, the last thing Harry had given her.

As she turned away from him and towards the door, she felt a tug on her sleeve. Sirius’s good hand had caught her jumper. “You don’t…you can stay. I don’t want to be alone.” He refused to look at her, but Hermione desperately wanted to see the emotions floating in his grey eyes. Vulnerability had never come easily to the Animagus, and Hermione was not going to turn away from him. The room suddenly felt too small, and she pulled the chair she had been sitting in next to him. It felt all too familiar to her, and she wondered if she had cared for him in another life. Plopping down in the chair, she grabbed his good hand and began to rub circles into it, as she had always done when those she loved were upset.

“Do you want me to get James?” It was a simple question. When emergencies happened or someone got hurt, you call their family; Sirius had chosen the Potters as his family long ago.

“No…don’t bother him. Merlin knows I’ve been through worse. He hates hospitals; reminds him of when his parents died.” He shifted in the bed and winced when his broken hand brushed briefly against his body. “Fuck!” Sirius cursed, hissing the word through his teeth as he swallowed the pain. Hermione knew this was definitely not the worst pain he’d ever felt, but it still upset her.

“A healer will be along soon, and then they’ll get you fixed right up.” It was a promise, but it didn’t carry much weight as St. Mungo’s wasn’t known for being the fastest place to visit. Not to mention that the injury he had come in for would be classified as non-emergency.

Silence fell on them then, and the discomfort of it swirled around them. Hermione sat in the chair, rubbing circles on his hand, and Sirius laid on the bed, staring intently everywhere besides at the witch beside him. It felt intimate in a way, and Hermione could feel her face warm from the closeness. 

“I’m sorry…” Sirius finally spoke, his words cutting through the think quietness like a knife. “You were only trying to protect me and I…I’m sorry.” Hermione could tell that he was reluctant to say it, and she tried to remember the last time she had heard him apologize to someone. This was the first.

“I don’t blame you for being angry. After all, your mother is a right cunt.” The harsh language felt foreign on her tongue, and although her instinct was to flinch away from the word, she stood her ground. Sirius’s eyes snapped up to hers, and it was like an electric current surged under her skin. Before either of them knew what was going on, Sirius’s lips were on hers. They were softer than she had expected, and surprisingly warm. Deep in the recesses of her mind, all the thoughts and feelings she had been pushing away regarding the wizard in her arms flooded her brain, and she wrapped her fingers in his long, curly, black hair.

Their positions were awkward, so Hermione stood. Sirius moved so he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and Hermione positioned herself between his legs. His tongue swirled around her lips, and she parted them to allow him access. A slight moan escaped from her as he continued, and Hermione could’ve sworn she heard him growl.

A click alerted them to the opening door, and they jumped apart as fast as physically possible. Her face now red from the heat of their snogging and the embarrassment of being caught, Hermione stood awkwardly in the far corner. The same young woman who had brought them to the room had walked in, shooting a knowing glance between the two. Sirius, who looked proud rather than embarrassed, held up his hand.

“Mr. Black, my name is Healer Pomfrey, and I will be taking care of you.” Just as quickly as Hermione’s face had heated up from embarrassment, her features twisted into understanding. The woman looked familiar because this was a young Poppy Pomfrey before she accepted her position at Hogwarts. It was the same woman who had talked with her when she had accidentally turned into a cat, who had brushed her hair when she’d been petrified, who treated anyone and everyone who needed her after the Battle of Hogwarts. An urge to hug the woman tightly gripped Hermione, and she had to clasp her hands together to resist the urge.

Pomfrey cast her diagnostic spells and promised to return in a few minutes.

Distraction came as her saving grace, and she felt the coin she wore around her neck heat up and she pulled it up from under her jumper.

_ Possible Traitor. HQ 10 minutes – Romulus _

Hermione’s heart felt like it might beat out of its chest, and she stood immediately, gathering her cloak in her hands.

“I have to go. You’ll be patched up in no time but I have to go.” Her voice was panicked and insistent as she frantically prepared to leave the roomSirius’s eyes searched her, and his voice was tight.

“Don’t go.” It was a genuine request, and Hermione’s heart clenched as her hand wrapped around the warm coin around her neck. He grasped desperately for her hand, but she pulled away from him.

“I’m sorry…I have to.” A moment later, Sirius Black was alone in the room, staring at the space where Hermione had been.

“Don’t leave me here alone.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a Valentine's Day present to you all, I am taking drabble requests. Pretty much any Harry Potter pairing is welcome. If you would like to request something, send me a message on Tumblr with your pairing, prompt, and penname on here. My tumblr is weaverofdreams45, and I look forward to hearing from you.


	16. Traitorous Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has choices that she has to make, and there is no way she can let herself get distracted...she can't fail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks! So just a heads up, updates are going to get a bit more sporadic throughout the next few months as I'm starting a new job. Regardless, I will continue to update whenever the next chapter is done. Thanks as always to rotehexe for being the voice of the people! Comments and kudos are incredibly, incredibly appreciated.

“What is it? What’s happened?” Hermione spoke as she nearly ran through her front door. Remus, whose magical signature she had keyed to her wards, was waiting for her in her kitchen. Nothing about his posture slowed her beating heart. Regulus. It couldn’t be. The wolf stood tall, his shoulders tight as he paced the floor. His brown ragged shoes clicked against the material as he walked.

“I didn’t want to believe it.” Remus started, finally bringing his large frame to a slow halt. “He’s my friend.” That was all it took, for Hermione’s breath to leave her in a relieved gasp. Not Regulus…Peter.

“Peter.” She spoke, her voice breathless as nearly laughed. No, she did laugh. It bubbled up her throat like a madwoman, and she slumped over as the power of her laughter began to hurt her stomach.

“I fail to see how this is in any way comical.” Remus chastised, his voice angry and his eyes turning gold on the edges. Hermione attempted to control herself, but she could feel herself spiraling. All the trouble she had gone through to not reveal the traitor to his friends and Remus knew anyway. All the niceties shared and the times she had to smile at his cowardly face.

“I’ve tried so hard to hide it from you…from Sirius and yet you know anyway. I should’ve stomped that little rat into the dust the first time I laid eyes on him.” Hermione voice didn’t sound like her own, and she sat in the chair closest to her, knowing that the uncomfortable laughter would soon fade to frustrated tears. 

“So why didn’t you? You just let me carry on like this….traitor was my friend!” Remus’s voice was angrier than she’d ever heard it. He was normally so calm, so controlled.

“I couldn’t change it. I didn’t know how vital Pettigrew was.” It had sounded terrible in her head, but saying it out loud was somehow even worse. “But after today…I find myself not caring.”

“What happened today?” The werewolf had seated himself across from her, and she looked up to find narrowed and angry gold eyes watching her intently. Clearing her throat, Hermione swallowed the sting of frustration and desperately tried to contain herself.

“I’ll tell you just…let me call Regulus first. He should hear this too.” Remus nodded tightly, clearly fighting back his irritation. She couldn’t imagine though, how much pain he was feeling. When he had found out about Peter’s treachery in her time, she’d worried he might kill the man.

Pulling the coin out from around her neck, she turned the cold gold over in her hand. It was a simple message. _Meeting at HQ. Come ASAP – Athena_.

She made tea for them as they waited for Regulus to arrive, and Remus stiffened when she had leaned down to give him his tea. It was what she had been waiting for, and she cut him off before he could start making accusations. “I will tell you everything, when Regulus gets here.”

Hermione knew…she knew that Sirius’s scent lingered in her hair where he had run his hands, on her lips which still burned from his touch. But even as she remembered the intimacy of his touch, she remembered the devastation in his eyes as she had left him. “I’ll tell you.”

It was a long and uncomfortable silence that followed her promise. Regulus, true to the fashion of the Black brothers, took his time in getting to his destination. Finally after 15 minutes, the floo in the sitting area roared to life. “Its about bloody time.” Remus swore, swallowing the last sips of his tea in one large gulp.

“First of all, I was with Grandfather, desperately explaining away the French witch I came to the Malfoy’s ball with then disappeared with then came back without. Second of all, what the fuck Hermione?! I came back from that blasted party after saying my polite goodbyes for a bloody hour and you weren’t fucking there.” Hermione flinched at the man’s anger, and she shrank away from him. He was right, it had been thoughtless of her to leave without telling him where she’d gone but in that moment nothing had existed but Sirius.

“Wait came back without. You left the party early?” Remus’s voice was full of concern and he looked over at Hermione once again. She shot him a look that she hoped conveyed that she would tell him later and looked back at Regulus.

“Your mother…” Hermione began, ignoring Remus’s outburst, and Regulus threw his hands up.

“Of fucking course its my cunt of a mother.” Seeming to remember himself suddenly, he ran his fingers through his long hair and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry for my language but I have just about had it with that horrific witch.”

Remus curled his lips into a smirk and Hermione could tell he was thinking the same thing as her…that perhaps the Black brothers were not so different after all.

“I was waiting in the study when I overheard voices. One I recognized immediately as your mother. Funnily enough, that was the exact vocabulary your brother used to describe her as well. But the other voice was familiar because it was a voice I’d just heard for the first time.” Hermione waited to see if Regulus would see where she was going, but he just urged her to go one with a gesture.

“Abraxas Malfoy. They were talking about Sirius; planning on kidnapping him for leverage against the Order. I didn’t have time to wait, I had to help him. I ran out of your house, which I’m not sure if your mother or Malfoy heard, but I got to Diagon Alley as quickly as I could.” Regulus’s eyes flickered with an emotion Hermione didn’t recognize and she filed this information away for later evaluation. Remus was back to pacing now, clearly upset about the planned kidnapping and putting together how exactly the known Death Eater knew where Sirius was.

“And my brother…is he okay?” Hermione could tell that Regulus was holding himself back. His body language screamed that he was calm and unconcerned, but his eyes betrayed him…those same sad grey eyes that she had left at St. Mungo’s. Her throat dried suddenly, and she choked on some air. 

“Yes. I intercepted Rowle before he could do anything. It really is stunning how ill-equipped all the Death Eaters are to face such a…what did he call me, a little girl.” Hermione was a bit smug now, but the serious expressions of her comrades stopped her, and her lips fell into a frown. “When I finally got to Sirius, he was with Pettigrew.” Regulus’s eyebrow quirked up at this information, and Remus growled. 

“Pettigrew is a spy for the Dark Lord. I’ve heard rumors but I never believed it.” Regulus knew Peter only from his schooltime with the Marauders, so Hermione was not shocked to find that he was in disbelief that the boy would betray his best friends. 

“Well believe it. I got Sirius away from Pettigrew and he got angry when I told him why I was there. He punched a brick wall in an alley in Diagon. I dropped him off at St. Mungo’s when I got a message from Remus talking about a traitor.” Regulus, who had settled into a lean against the threshold between the kitchen and the hallway to the bedrooms groaned.

“Please…please tell me you didn’t leave my brother alone at St. Mungo’s.” Regulus began, supported by an equally distressed looking Remus.

Hermione knew Sirius didn’t like hospitals. She knew that from his behavior when she had mentioned the place. He was nervous in a way she’d never seen him before, although he hid it well.

“I…Remus called me, I had to.” It stung in her throat, repeating the excuse she’d given the man who she was trying so desperately to not feel anything for.

“Oh bloody hell.” Regulus groaned, throwing his head back in a dramatic way and placing his palms over his eyes.

“Hermione if I had known…” Remus shook his head, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He looked more ragged in that moment, so tired…like her Remus.

“I could figure that he didn’t like hospitals, but he seemed alright. He did…he asked me not to go. I…I had to.” Guilt began to eat away at her as two men who knew Sirius better than she did looked horrified at this information.

“He fucking hates hospitals. Hasn’t set foot in one since our mother almost killed him in the summer after his first year. He was in that place for weeks.” Regulus’s grey eyes were dark with regret and desperation, and Hermione realized that she wasn’t the only one who had regrets.

“I should go.” Remus began, gathering his cloak that was hanging on a hook on the wall and wrapping it around himself. Regulus simply nodded his head at the werewolf, one of the most civil gestures she’d ever seen exchanged between the men.

“No.” Hermione called quietly, realizing Remus couldn’t hear her. Her voice struggled to come for some reason, but she caught the back of the soft brown material of Remus’s cloak and pulled him back. “You can’t go. He’ll want you to explain how you know. The way I left…I’ll come up with some excuse, but if you show up he’ll get even more suspicious than he already is. I’ll find him. It hasn’t been too long.”

Regulus nodded abruptly, mumbling some half-hearted goodbye and escaping from the weight of their conversation in a puff of green fire and smoke. Remus, whose eyes had returned to their normal greenish-blue hue looked at her with disappointment for the first time, and Hermione nearly crumbled under them.

He stepped into the fireplace, green sand escaping from his grasp as he dawdled for just a second. His mouth opened and closed as if he was determining if he should say what he wanted. “I told you not to hurt him.” Remus spoke after a moment, his voice fading as he too disappeared. Alone in the house, Hermione grabbed her own handful of powder and stepped in.

“St. Mungo’s.”

* * *

Healer Pomfrey (not yet Madam Hermione had to remind herself) informed her that Sirius Black had checked himself out after his hand had been healed, against her personal recommendation.

“If you should see Mr. Black, please ensure that he takes his pain potions as scheduled. He didn’t seem to hear a word I said when he rushed himself out of here. Now if you excuse me, I have other patients to tend to.”

Hermione was all too ready to leave the sanitary and oppressive whites walls of the hospital, and she pulled her cloak tighter as a chilly wind blew by her. She knew Sirius Black lived in the flat above what would one day – she hoped – be the Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes shop. Wandering around Diagon Alley, she stared at the gaudily painted orange door for too long, losing her nerve just as soon as she could gain it.

She was convincing herself to finally knock with her knuckles raised when the door she had been staring at opened. “I got tired of waiting for you to knock.” The animagus spoke plainly, his voice gruff as if he had just woken up. Black hair hung loosely in his face as it spilled out of a messy bun, and his cream-colored Henley barely hid the black ink of his tattoos. Hermione swallowed nervously as she tried to focus on anything else in the world besides how fucking sexy Sirius Black looks when he just woke up.

“Come in, if you’re going to.” The marauder walked away from the door, and Hermione followed after him, shutting the door behind her. Sirius Black’s flat was not what she had expected at all; it was cleaner than she had expected.

The small sitting area was filled with a lumpy red velvet couch and a hideous coffee table that Hermione could just sense he had gotten off the street. Horrific brown shag carpet brushed under her feet, and the dim light in the room was provided by an old Victorian lamp. Pictures of his friends graced the walls, and Hermione found herself staring at one where the Marauders were all smiling and laughing together.

He sat back on the couch, which from the way the cushions were fashioned, she could tell she was right in her assumption that he had been sleeping. Bandages and pain potions laid on the coffee table, clearly having been taken off by the stubborn man.

“Sirius…” She began to chastise but shut her mouth. That was not why she was here. “I’m sorry.” Sitting on the couch next to him, she tried not to touch him, worrying that she wouldn’t be able to think straight if she felt the burn of his touch again.

“Nothing to be sorry for.” Sirius spoke, a drawl in his tone. It wouldn’t have made sense, for him to speak so slowly, but then the smell hit her.

“You’re drunk.” It was an observation, not a question, but there was disbelief in her tone. He couldn’t have been home from the hospital for more than an hour. Disappointment filled her, and she snapped her eyes to his. He at least had the decency to look ashamed.

“Yeah well. Part of my healing process.”

“I’m sorry I left you at the hospital.”

“Yeah you’re sorry…but you did it anyway. I…Fuck…nevermind.” Pulling out a thin cigarette case from his back pocket, Hermione leaned closer to him, ripping the gross tobacco from his mouth before he could find his lighter.

“No. You and I are going to have a conversation and you are not going to pretend you are alright.” Her voice was slightly more forceful than she had meant it to be, but she was sick of this cycle.

“What the fuck do you want me to say Hermione? Do you want me to tell you that I can’t get the fucking scent of your hair out of my head? Do you want to hear that my heart fucking beats faster when you’re around? You show up here out of the fucking blue and my whole life stops.” His lips were on hers again, faster than she could process it, and before she could kiss him back, he had pulled away.

“I’ve wanted to do that since I first laid eyes on you.” Sirius stood then, moving himself away from her, and Hermione’s body shivered from the loss of his heat.

“Sirius…I…” She couldn’t deny him. She couldn’t ignore the way her heart hurt when he was in danger, or the way that grey eyes had infiltrated her dreams. But she couldn’t…she didn’t have time. Her mission…Harry… “This isn’t about me. This is about me leaving you in the hospital. You told me how much you hated it and I left you alone. I’m sorry for that.”

She clipped her voice the way she had learned from Regulus, polite but distant…the way of pureblood ladies.

“Everything is about you.” Sirius fought back, and Hermione’s resolve nearly broke. She cared about him more than she should…more than she could allow. The only thing she could do now is push her feelings away, and lie to the man she was afraid she loved.

“It shouldn’t be.” Her voice shook as she stared intently at her hands. Nervousness filled her fingers as she fidgeted. Harry always used to tell her she was a rubbish liar, but never when it mattered, and this mattered.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sirius’s voice was low, and she could see from the corner of her eye that he was approaching. Her breath came quickly as she realized what she had to do. _I’m sorry Remus_, she thought, _I have to break my promise_.

“I don’t feel that way…about you.” She knew she had to look at him, to stare into his eyes and hold her lie. Hermione wasn’t certain she could do it, and as she slowly raised her head to gaze into his cloudy grey eyes, she knew more than ever that she had to. Because if she had to choose between destroying Voldemort and saving Sirius’s life, she knew which one she’d pick.

“You’re lying.” He accused her, and his voice was so certain and so fierce she almost admitted it. She was lying, but she had to…just like she had had to leave him at St. Mungo’s. Hermione Granger had come to the past to destroy Voldemort once and for all. There was no room for distractions, and yet she couldn’t hold on to her lies when he looked at her like that.

“I can’t Sirius. I have…there are things I have to do and you can’t be a part of it.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she grew frustrated and upset. She had planned for everything, researched for three years to prepare for this trip to the past but there was one thing she hadn’t planned for. She could never have planned for Sirius Black.

“Why not? You and all your mysteries. Let me in. You talk about ignoring how I’m feeling and pretending I’m alright then you stand there and tell me that you don’t feel anything for me.” He was so close to her now, his lips just inches from hers and her breathing startled.

“I can’t….I can’t…” She just repeated it again, her voice broken. What she wanted didn’t matter, no matter how much she wanted him.

“Yes, you can.” Hermione realized suddenly that he wouldn’t give up. Unlike her, he didn’t have to focus. Images of the horcruxes she had yet to find and the stress of not knowing how to destroy them came to the front of her mind. She steeled herself, knowing what she had to do.

“No. I can’t.” Her wand was raised before he seemed to understand, and she cast the spell quietly. The stunning spell had hit his chest, and he fell against her. Hermione struggled slightly under his weight, attempting to return him to the sleeping position he had likely been in when he woke up. She raised her wand again, but this time she hesitated only slightly. 

Obliviate was a very delicate spell and performing it on someone is a very intimate experience. Searching through his brain was like stepping around broken glass. Trauma and pain filled his mind as she moved past his memories. St. Mungo’s…she’d found it. Altering it would be difficult, because the memory was so strong. It radiated with a happiness that nearly broke her heart. Once that memory had been altered to remove the kiss, she took his memory of her being in his flat; he would never know. When she was done with her alterations, she pulled the thin blue strands of light from the side of his head and placed it into a glass jar from her beaded bag.

One day…one day she hoped she’d be able to show him, to restore these memories. One day when he understood why she’d had to do it.

Summoning the scratchy wool blanket near the couch, she laid it on top of the unconscious animagus and stroked his cheek for a moment. He was so peaceful like this, and Hermione fought the urge to stay, to wrap her arms around him and never leave. 

She leaned forward, brushing her lips against his forehead before tucking one of his stray curls back behind his ear. “I’m so sorry. I don’t have time to love you.”

Hermione left him like that, sleeping on his couch, knowing that when he awoke all he would have was a headache and an empty flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know! I'm sorry! Don't kill me! I promise this will eventually be a happily ever after, but I have to get my drama in first.


	17. Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione figures out that the people around her may mean more than she had ever planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back! Sorry for the delay folks, but working full time has severely cut into my writing time. I think I'm going to start trying to have an update schedule to make it easier on myself. I'll likely upload on Sundays starting next Sunday, so be on the lookout for those more regular updates. As always, your support means the absolute world to me and I am so happy to receive any and all feedback!

Time seemed to pass at a crawling pace after that sweaty August day at Sirius’s flat. Hermione never spoke of what had happened between her and the animagus that day, not even to Remus (although the werewolf’s observational eyes seemed to cast a knowing look at her when she walked back through the doors of her home with eyes puffed and red from tears).

The crispness of fall followed swiftly the sweltering heat of the summer and she had nothing to show for her three months in the past but Ravenclaw’s lost diadem that she had retrieved during a visit to Hogwarts. The stone walls of the castle looked so familiar to her that an ache formed in her chest. A tightness like that of a rope wrapped around her lungs kept her from taking a full breath. Everywhere she turned, she saw Harry and his permanently messy hair. Now that she had met his father, it made her smile sadly. 

James was…well he wasn’t Harry. Harry had spent his whole adolescents craving his father…his parents, the part of himself he had never known but Hermione was shocked to see how different the men were. Not in their character of course, James and Harry were both kind and despite James’s past as a bully, she knew that his heart was good. 

Getting to know James had been too hard at first, reminding her every moment of the boy she had lost. But this man was not his son. He was a creature of his own, and she didn’t know how to separate them.

Until the day that James Potter proved to Hermione that he was her friend.

Hermione couldn’t figure it out at first, how James had even found out about her birthday. She was invited to dinner at the Potter’s Cottage, not unusual on its own, but this was a Friday night and most of their dinners happened on Mondays.

Remus seemed on edge prior to the meal, and Hermione found herself wondering why.

* * *

_ ~ September 21, 1979 ~ _

_ “Why are you being so jittery? It’s not the full moon for another…” Hermione paused, doing some mental math. This was going to be Remus’s second month on Wolfsbane, and she panicked for a moment that perhaps they hadn’t started the doses at the right time. Remus clearly saw the frenzy behind her soft brown eyes and he placed his large palm on the top of her head. _

_ “Not the moon Wells. Perhaps I’ve had too much tea. Sirius invited me over this morning and he can’t make a cuppa worth a damn.” The smile on the werewolf’s face didn’t reach his ears, but Hermione couldn’t help but laugh at his statement. Sirius was rather helpless at making tea; Lily had nearly gagged on hers last time they’d been together. _

_ The walk up to the Potter’s house was beautiful in this beginning stages of fall. Trees were thriving in the more temperate climate of the September air and Hermione wondered if this is what the house looked like the night James and Lily died. Shaking the thought from her head, she walked up the cobblestone path. It had rained recently, and Hermione walked quickly to avoid getting mud on her denims. _

_ Her hand paused on the doorknocker, halting herself and feeling Remus stumble into her, having not anticipated her stopping. “Do you think he’ll…” Hermione didn’t finish her question; she didn’t have to. Peter had been the elephant in the room between her and Remus since The Incident. Remus had wanted nothing more than to tear the man limb from limb, but Hermione knew that if they unveiled the fact he was a spy that Voldemort would close ranks. _

_ “He’ll be here. James always makes sure he’s invited to these things.” The venom in Remus’s voice still surprised Hermione, as the man she knew was gentle, kind and intelligent. She had to remind herself once more that this Remus did not have the wisdom and temperament built up through a decade of melancholy and loneliness. _

_ “These things? It’s just dinner Remus.” Hermione rolled her eyes at her friend’s exaggeration and finally lifted the brass knocker and tapped it against the door. Lily was the one to answer them, wearing a particularly pretty blouse and her signature bell bottom denims. Her long red hair was pulled back for once instead of hanging around her face, and Hermione noticed a new perfume when she leaned in to give the woman a hug.  _

_ “Lily Potter is that lipstick?!” Hermione noticed, pulling away from the woman just enough to see her face more clearly. Suspicion began to form in the back of her mind, and she silently reassured herself that she had her wand in a hidden pocket in the sleeve of her jumper.  _

_ “So what if it is? I can be girly when there’s not a ball on you know.” Lily stuck her tongue out at the curly haired-witch standing in her entrance hall and the two women burst into bubbly laughter a moment later. Remus, who was standing behind Hermione with the chill of the wind pushing against his back, cleared his throat so that he could move forward and close the door. _

_ “Come along Hermione. There’s something I have to show you in the living room.” Hermione, who had taken off her cloak while Remus and Lily said their hellos, hung it on the hooks on the wall and followed the ginger witch as she pulled Hermione’s arm. The house was dark, but she was familiar enough with its outline by now that she felt along the wall for the switch. _

_ Just as the light switched on, Hermione was greeted by a loud chorus of voices yelling out Surprise! _

_ Her wand was out of her sleeve and in front of her before she could place any of the faces, and her chest tightened as her fight or flight instincts from the war kicked in. Breathing became labored as the blood rushing from her heart pounded in her ears. James was the first one to react, as everyone reeled from the unexpected reaction. Placing his hand over Hermione’s outstretched wand arm, he looked her straight in the eye. _

_ “You’re alright. You’re safe. We didn’t mean to panic you Hermione. It’s alright. You’re among friends.” Slowly, after he repeated those phrases a few times, the pounding in Hermione’s ears lessened. Taking breaths so deep they burned her lungs, she lowered her wand. _

_ “I’m sorry James…I…” Hermione seemed at a loss for words, and her chest still hurt from the erratic rhythm her breathing had taken during her brief panic. _

_ “No worries. It was a bit barmy of us to throw a surprise party when there’s a war on, but a little birdy told me we’d missed your birthday and I couldn’t live with myself if we didn’t celebrate.” James maintained his easy smile throughout their exchange, something even Lily had let falter. _

_ “My birthday?” Hermione asked in a daze. Had she forgotten it? What age would she even be? Was the younger version even born? Or the original version? Or was she the original? Her head began to pound from the confusion, and she was once again pulled out of it by James Potter. _

_ “Of course your birthday. You only turn 19 once!” Hermione could feel her lips pull into a small smile. That wasn’t necessarily true. She’d turn 19 twice…and 20, 21, 22, 23, and 24 for those matters. Remus, who was the only person present who knew of her origins, shot her a coy smile and placed his arm around her shoulders. _

_ “Sorry for the mystery love, but James here would’ve given it away within a moment. I hope you are surprised.” When he pulled her into a hug, she could feel his neck lower against hers. His hot breath radiated onto her ear as he whispered to her, “If you need an excuse to leave, start talking about the weather.” _

_ Hermione could feel a current of relief course through her knowing she had a way out, and she nodded her head very lightly. When she separated from Remus, she took stock of the guests at the party where she apparently served as the guest of honor. Alice and Frank Longbottom were the first to greet her after that. _

_ “Happy Birthday Hermione! You, me and Lils need to have a girls’ night soon. I love Frank, but if I have to spend one more Friday night at home I’ll scream.” Alice was bubbly in her joke, and she whacked her husband’s chest lightly, causing him to pretend to be grievously wounded. _

_ “I can’t remember the last time I had a girls’ night.” Hermione lamented aloud, and it was true. She had been so tied up in her research and building her time turner that for the last five years she had barely seen her friends. Luna’s hen do was probably the last time Hermione had spent time with more than one female friend for any considerable length of time. _

_ “That’s settled then. Lils!!!” Before Hermione could comment further, Alice in her determined glory was racing towards the kitchen in search of their red-headed host. All she could do was shake her head in laughing disapproval as Frank kissed her cheek and in turn gave her his best wishes for her birthday.  _

_ Shortly after Frank left her to chase down his wife, Hermione was given a hug by a woman she had only met twice. Mary MacDonald was exactly the kind of sickly-sweet person that Hermione found incredibly draining to converse with and she quickly ran away to fetch herself a drink to avoid any prolonged conversation with the bubbling optimist. All that woman ever wanted to do was gossip and Hermione didn’t have time for the frivolity of it all. _

_ Next followed Peter, who Hermione ran into while retrieving a bottle of butterbeer and somehow managed to not grimace at too much. Remus, whose eyes were tinted gold in what Hermione knew was a protective instinct from the wolf, stole her away after a few minutes of pretending to care about Peter’s life story. _

_ “Thank you for getting me out of there. I think I would have just hexed him into the void if I had to hear one more word about how well his mother’s rutabagas are turning out this year.” It wasn’t enough for the man to be a traitor, no he had to be boring to boot. _

_ “It’s no problem. Although I believe we did agree that when the time comes I will be the first one to get a shot at him.” The timbre of his voice was nearly a growl as he spoke, and Hermione shivered from fear. Remus was so gentle with those he cared about but he could be downright terrifying if you got on his bad side. _

_ Hermione, now free from both traitors and gossips, ran a calculation in her head…James, Lily, Remus, Alice, Frank, Mary, Peter, Moody had even sent a patronus with a grumpy well-wish. The Auror was incredibly suspicious of Hermione, but he was incredibly suspicious of most people, so she didn’t worry too much about it. _

_ There was however, one glaring hole in the midst of the celebrations. _

_ “He’s not coming is he?” Hermione resigned to herself, speaking the words solemnly into the air as she clutched at the steaming cuppa Remus had just handed her. The werewolf froze uncomfortably and brought his right arm behind his head. _

_ “No. No he’s not.” Sirius had been avoiding Hermione since The Incident. She was certain at first that it was a good thing; so she didn’t have to be reminded of the way his lips had tasted, or the way his touch had burned her. Then time passed and she had to acknowledge that she missed the man. It had been three weeks and she had only seen him in passing on occasion. _

_ “Maybe if you just told me what happened…” Remus began, only to cut himself off at the shake of Hermione’s head. She wasn’t ready to talk about it…not with anyone, even Remus. _

_ How do you even begin that conversation? I snogged Sirius and then erased his memory because I think I might be in love with him? No. There was nothing she could do but hope that one day the animagus would understand why she had to hurt him…why she had to put her own happiness as her last priority.  _

_ “Quite the weather we’re having…isn’t it Remus?” She was nearly choking on her breath by the time she arrived at his name, and a gargled sob sat in her throat. Without saying anything, the werewolf grabbed the mug from her hand and placed it in the sink. Leaving for a moment, Hermione could hear him making apologies to James and Lily nearby. She shouldn't have left, that was the whole point of erasing herself from Sirius’s memory…so that he wouldn’t distract her, and yet somehow the absence of him was more distracting than his presence had ever been. _

* * *

Fall had come even faster after Hermione’s surprise birthday party, and soon it was time for Lucius Malfoy’s birthday gala. Jolene, the name Hermione went by in the pureblood circles, had been quite a hit at Narcissa Malfoy’s birthday, and Regulus was informed in no uncertain terms that he was to bring her to Lucius’s party as well.

Her anxiety about returning to the Manor seemed to worsen as they got closer to the event, and Regulus finally broke one day after she had messed up the new dance he was teaching her for a fifth time.

“You’re distracted. What’s going on? We have four days before Malfoy’s gala, you can’t be making these silly mistakes.” His voice was angry, but there was no edge to it. Hermione could’ve sworn she almost heard concern in his tone.

Hermione opened her mouth to respond but found herself stumbling over the words. It wasn’t one single thing. Her torture in that house at the hands of a woman she knew would be there, Dolohov’s threat, the pressure of knowing that the fate of the Wizarding World relied on her convincing Lucius Malfoy to betray his father…betray Voldemort, to help her. It was all becoming too much. And then there was the added stress of wishing that her handsome dance partner was an older and slightly more disheveled version.

“I’ll do better. Let’s try again.” He clearly wanted to push the subject, but nevertheless, he placed his hand on her waist and they prepared to do the waltz again.  _ These damn purebloods and their antiquated traditions _ , Hermione cursed in her mind. When she missed her cue once again for the small lift half-way through, Regulus nearly shoved her away.

“Whatever is going on affects more than just you Granger! My life is on the line. Shove your pride and just tell me what’s bloody going on!” It was the first time since they’d met that Regulus had raised his voice at her, and she flinched away from him. He was right, of course he was right. He couldn’t afford for her to be distracted…Lily and James couldn’t afford for her to be distracted, yet here she was imagining how Sirius’s hands would feel if they were the ones around her waist. Finding her way back to setee across from the desk she had made her own in another time, she realized that she owed him an explanation.

“I didn’t…” Hermione took a deep breath. “Dolohov suspects me. He…” She closed her eyes, forcing back the memory of his vile breath against her neck. “When I was 16, he cursed me. Something dark. If my friends hadn’t been there I….” Hermione trailed off, not letting herself dwell in the horror. Death had been so close to her in that moment, and she could still feel its remnants in her bones, in her scar.

Regulus was next to her then, faster than she thought possible. Just in time too as she broke down. She always felt silly to be crying, when the world was plagued by evil and people died every day. Even during the war when she, Harry and Ron had been on the run, she had always felt guilty for letting her body manifest her stress. Even in her distress though, she noticed that the hesitance of his touch was gone. His arms wrapped around her and he began to stroke her hair without a second thought about her blood status.

“I’m so sorry Hermione. That you had to fight in this war.” Regulus’s voice was next to her ear, but it was muffled as he spoke through her hair. “I promise Dolohov will never touch you again.” There was a firmness to his voice, followed by a growling anger that shocked her for a moment. It was the most he had ever reminded her of Sirius and she felt her heart tighten as she longed for the man she had forced to forget her.

What happened next was a blur. Regulus’s lips met hers and for a moment she was so stunned she couldn’t react. His lips were soft and warm, but they were wrong. Wrong in a way that taunted her. He didn’t burn her the way Sirius had.

Raising her hands to his chest, she pushed against him, breaking away. Standing so quickly her blood rushed to her face, she backed up several paces. 

“Regulus…” She didn’t know what to say. This had not been a situation she had prepared for. Nothing in the world could have prepared her for the Black brothers. Staring at the face of the man she had pushed away, she saw clearly for the first time the broken and desperate man behind the mask. Regulus was so small in that moment, and when she reached out to him, she nearly took back her hand. “Please look at me. I didn’t mean to lead you on…or give you the wrong idea.” Her mission was to save Harry. There was no time for anything else, not when there was so much work to be done.

“And what exactly is the right idea? What is the idea that I should have? You come into my life with your talk of a dismal future where I’m dead and you enchant me with your fucking hair that smells like fresh strawberries somehow and your giant brown eyes. What else was I supposed to do? You are everything I’ve ever been taught to hate and now…”

“Now what?” Hermione asked, the words sticking in her throat as she said it. He never responded, snapping his jaw shut with an audible click. “I’m sorry Reg, I really am, but I came to the past for one reason. Until I am certain that Harry Potter grows up safe and loved, there is nothing else that matters…no one else that matters.” 

Regulus stood then, slowly and deliberately. Grey eyes refused to meet hers, and he walked to the door, holding it open.

“I think you should go.” Tears threatened on the edge of the tall man’s eyes and Hermione wondered how she had managed to muck this all up.

“Reg…” She began, but she was cut off by Regulus.

“Get. Out.” It was biting and fierce, and for a moment Hermione worried that he might raise his wand to her. Even if she had wanted to stay, the wards would obey him. She was not welcome anymore, and the house could feel it.

She walked, step by step towards where the mahogany door was open in front of her and attempted one more look at the man she had trusted to help her in this fight.

“I need you Reg. I need you to win this fight, but if I have to do this without you…I will.” It wasn’t a threat or a warning, it was just a fact. Hermione would not let anything – or anyone – get in the way of what she had to do. If there was any response on Regulus’s part, she did not hear or see it as she walked out of Grimmauld Place and out onto the streets of London.


	18. An Indecent Proposal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione Granger dons her disguise once more, this time with the intent of winning over Lucius Malfoy. He makes the same mistake as all the others...never underestimate a woman with nothing to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! Here is the first of my regular weekly updates. This is going to be the start of the plot moving along kinda rapidly, so buckle yourselves in for some drama and action coming up. As always, a huge shoutout goes to my beta rotehexe for keeping me sane and reminding me not to make my readers too miserable. If you're interested, I wrote a oneshot in my fireside drafts that is a RegulusxHermione from this universe as a special Valentine's Day present to my wonderful beta. Go check it out! (Its a bit smutty and smut is not my strong suit, but hey, I tried!)

To say Hermione felt anxious after her…was it a fight? No matter…after her interaction with Regulus, was a severe understatement. Even as she prepared herself for the occasion, wearing the black gown the pureblood had picked for her, she felt a tight pit form in her stomach. Regulus hadn’t spoken to her since that moment, and she worried as the event grew closer that he had abandoned her to the wolves.

The gown she was currently wearing was surprisingly modern for her pureblooded audience, but then again, she supposed she was supposed to be French. The tight-fitting gown left her feeling exposed, as if she was a lot in an auction – despite its floor-length and long sleeves. Her hair was already transfigured, falling in golden waves over her shoulder, and her eyes were now a light blue rather than their normal amber brown. With her eyes and hair not her own, it was almost like she was invading someone else’s body. Her features seemed smaller, without her bush of hair, and Hermione flinched away from the idea that Jolene was rather pretty. 

Once all her glamours were in place, she surveyed the final product. Jolene Selwyn was the picture of a perfect well-bred pureblood and it sickened Hermione. It wasn’t her…she had to remind herself. The only thing she could think to do was to cover the mirrors; there were only a handful of mirrors in the house, even fewer in the room she had taken occupancy in. Fidgeting and adjusting was making no difference to her nerves and so she resigned to say she was ready. Of course, she would never be ready…not to feel the eyes of every person she’d ever hated on her. Not to feel Antonin Dolohov’s heavy gaze following her from across a room.

When the floo in the sitting room activated, she nearly fell on the floor from her panic. Realization set in only a moment or two later that the only people who could floo in are Regulus, Remus, or Dumbledore.

Erratic heartbeats counted her steps as she made her way from the bedroom towards the sitting area. She wanted…needed it to be Regulus. Slightly unsteady in the too tall heels Regulus had insisted on, she tottered slowly towards the floo. Mentally checking that she was prepared in the small chance that someone had broken through her wards, she patted the place on her leg where she knew her wand sat in a black leather holster. It was one of a kind. Harry had given it to her for her 16 th birthday; constant vigilance he had joked.

When she rounded the faded wallpapered corners of the hall into the sunlit space. Relief flooded her as Regulus’s tall form appeared before her. Something was different though, and it took her a moment to figure out exactly what it was.

“You’ve cut your hair.” Hermione noted, the sound escaping unprompted from her throat. It was the first thing she’d said to him in four days. He ran his fingers through his, now much shorter, curls and she realized that he didn’t look quite so much like his brother anymore.

The man, who no longer looked like a boy, straightened a little as he took her in.

“You look…acceptable.” It was the highest compliment he could give her, that she would fit in…that the pureblooded bigots she was hoping to trick would be fooled once again.

He fiddled with the collar of his tuxedo-esque dress robes, clearly uncertain what to say. Hermione had never been one for uncomfortable silence, so she did the only thing she could think of…babbling.

“I appreciate this Reg. I mean not that you really have much of a choice because you made that vow to me and…what I mean to say is that I’m glad you didn’t let that…urm…well the kiss get in the way of our plans. I do need you in this Regulus…” Hermione was cut off then, from her rambling, by Regulus placing his hand over her mouth.

“I overstepped. You’re right. Until the Dark Lo…until Voldemort is in the ground, there is no time for anything else.” He seemed so grown then, and it made Hermione’s heart break to see such a heavy burden placed on such a young man. In another time, a time free of blood purity and war, he would have been in the prime of his life. Her mission was for Harry, it always had been, but she was so grateful in that moment to be able to save his life as well.

“Speaking of time, we best be going. My French cover allows us some fashionable lateness, but we’re edging towards the obscene.” Hermione took a handful of floo powder and cast it into the fire. The flames burned a bright green and she stepped into them, her heart still reeling as part of her worried it would set her alight. Cool green tongues of fire licked at her form as she made sure to clearly enunciate.

“Malfoy Manor.”

* * *

Just as the Manor had been decorated to an intense degree for Narcissa’s birthday, so it was for Lucius’s. If it was even possible, the space felt even more self-indulgent and grandiose than it had before. Part of Hermione’s brain was torn between appreciating the beautiful scene and remembering the image of her blood spilling out against the hardwood floor of the parlor. If she stared at the rug long enough, would she still be able to see the stains?

The color palette of this gathering was much more fitting of Lucius than the bright pastels his wife preferred. Blood red roses decorated the room as enchanted candles burned with no wax dripping down onto the guests. The linens were a mix of grey and emerald, causing Hermione to nearly roll her eyes from the Slytherin-ness of it all. If she gave Lucius any credit at all, it was that he was a creature of habit.

“Ah there he is. Fashionably late but with a beautiful woman on his arm.” It was Narcissa’s voice that rung clear from the crowd, as Hermione and Regulus made their way into the ballroom from the entrance hall.

“Narcissa!” Hermione greeted, pasting on her fake French accent as if it was a slightly ill-fitting glove. With her hair and eyes transfigured, she did almost look like Fleur. Her mind wandered for a moment as she thought about the woman, and made a promise to herself to make sure they were introduced in the future. So much would change, but she wouldn’t deny Bill his love.

“The ladies have been asking after you Miss Selwyn. Reggie here said you had to return to France. I must thank you though for giving ladies’ tea something to talk about besides Priscilla’s engagement.” Narcissa leaned in, her elegantly crafted curls falling forward as she did so. “Between you and me, I think she’s already pregnant. I suppose we’ll see if the Parkinson’s have an heir within nine months of the wedding.” Although there was a jovial quality to the blonde’s tone, Hermione could detect the bitterness underneath it. She had heard rumors that Narcissa and Lucius had been trying for children for some time. 

Hermione’s brain processed this information the way she had trained it to. Parkinson…Pansy’s mother. Pansy was born in April, she was relatively certain, so Narcissa’s estimate was correct. Unconsciously, the brown-eyed witch turned her gaze towards her hostess’s stomach and wondered if she knew that she was pregnant yet.

“’ou must send me all the gossip. Regulus is ‘orrible about sending me the latest news. The worst friend I call ‘im.” Her hand snapped playfully against Reg’s chest, and the man seemed unenthused to have been included in her conversation.

“Oh yes our young Regulus was never much interested in the salacious secrets of the pureblooded elite. Walburga insists…” Narcissa continued to chat animatedly, but Hermione couldn’t hear her anymore. 

Regulus had been beckoned away my Macnair, called to where Lucius and his death eater friends all gathered. That wasn’t what drew Hermione’s attention away from Narcissa though. No that was the unshakeable feeling that she was being watched. It was like a dementor had entered the room, the way all joy had left her body. Chills ran down her spine and she turned her head to the left, scanning the crowd for the crooked toothy smile she knew would be staring at her.

Antonin Dolohov was standing alone, leaning against a wall close to the grand fireplace that served as a focal point of the room. Gilded gold foil glittered in the reflection of the chandelier and candlelight, illuminating his face like the wolf from fairy tales.

“You will come won’t you?” Narcissa asked again, and Hermione was forced away from the intensity of his black eyes.

“Absolutely.” Hermione promised, having faintly heard something about tea. It was a lie of course, but Narcissa had no way of knowing that. After her talk with Lucius, Jolene Selwyn wouldn’t need to exist any longer.

Breathing came harder to her, and she knew she couldn’t afford to make a scene right then, so she excused herself and walked onto one of the balconies. The air was more free without the containment of the walls of the ballroom and she thanked Merlin that the Malfoys felt the need for such extravagance that they had four balconies leading out of the ballroom.

This whole building seemed to be dripping with excess and showmanship and yet Hermione could feel in her bones still the evil that would one day radiate from its walls. If she did her job right though, they would never have to make that choice…never have to let Voldemort use their home like the gate to Hell.

“So strange to catch a young pureblooded woman unescorted. Where is young Regulus this evening?” The voice was familiar enough by now, as she had overheard it planning a kidnapping not too long ago.

“I do believe ‘e ‘as been drawn away by your son. Who are we to deny the birthday boy?” She forced out a playful giggle, swallowing the original anxiety that lead her onto this balcony alone. “I find myself a little ‘omesick so I was getting some air.” A breeze of cold wind blew in then, tousling her transfigured curls and sending a shiver down her spine.

Shrugging off his outer robes, he wrapped the heavy fur-lined collar around her shoulders. It took all the strength she had to not flinch when his hands brushed her shoulders. Even with the fabric of her dress between them she felt violated. This was the man who had planned to have Sirius captured…this was the man who set off a chain of events that led to Draco Malfoy taking on the burden of a dark mark at only 16 years old.

“I’m sure a French woman like you isn’t used to all this British weather.” Abraxas leaned against the stone rail, looking at her. He switched to French now, and Hermione prayed that he wouldn’t see through her. “ _ Do you miss it when you visit? The French air? My grandmother was French you know. When I was young we used to go visit her in Bordeaux.” _

The blonde smiled as he spoke, as if he was remembering back to his childhood fondly. It turned her stomach, to see the contentment spread across his pointy features. Here he stood in dress robes that probably cost more galleons than most people would ever have with a dark mark tattooed on his forearm like the blood spilt by his hand was nothing.

Anxiety met anger and they merged in the pit of her stomach into an entirely new emotion. Hatred. Hermione hated this man; she hated everything he stood for. She hated his fancy house and his son and the Dark Lord he served, but most of all, she hated the way he smiled at her.

Clearing her throat, Hermione stood from where she had been leaned against the rail and shrugged off the robes he had placed on her shoulders. “ _ I miss a lot of things, but I will be getting back to them soon. Soon, my family will be back together.”  _ She walked past him, ignoring his grunt of confusion at her suddenly distant and bitter behavior. It only took her a moment to find Regulus and Lucius, owing to the birthday boy’s obnoxiously platinum blonde hair.

“Hello boys.” Hermione greeted, a sickly-sweet smile gracing her lips as she stared at her prey. Regulus offered her his elbow, and she bowed her head slightly as she took it. Lucius, who she had not seen yet this evening, reached out for her to extend her hand. The pleasantries were simple; you offer him your hand and he kisses it. Imagining the look on his pompous face when he discovered that he kissed a mudbloods hand not once but twice was the only thing keeping Hermione from reeling back and punching him in his smug face.

“Jolene, I was just talking about you. I was mentioning to Lucius about your investment idea. Although the stubborn git refuses to be stolen away.” Regulus winked at Lucius, raising the glass of firewhiskey in his hand to his lips and Hermione rolled her eyes playfully.

“Of course ‘e won’t discuss business at his birthday party. Shame on you for asking ‘im.” She turned dramatically away from Regulus and towards Malfoy. “I’m so sorry for him.” Making sure his eyes were still on her, she turned back to the Black on her arm and faux whispered in French. “ _ I can just find an investor when I get back to France. Sad though. The Malfoys would’ve made a fortune. _ ”

Lucius Malfoy was a simple man to manipulate when money was involved, and she nearly smirked smugly at him when his ears perked up around his stupid pointy face that was not so dissimilar from his father’s after all.

“Well perhaps I could make time. I’m sure Narcissa could entertain the guests for a few moments.” Narcissa, as if summoned by the mention of her name, appeared just then, offering Hermione a glass of giggle water. Toasting to the blonde as she took it, she smiled brightly. This was working; everything was going according to plan.

“Talking about me darling?” The elegant witch spoke, her voice filled with fondness and amusement. Hermione observed Narcissa around the men like she was at a zoo. Everything Regulus had taught her about being a proper-pureblooded woman oozed out of this woman like it was her natural state. It was like watching a masterclass, only Narcissa had no idea she was teaching it.

“I have to talk some business with Miss Selwyn and Black for a moment if you would entertain the rabble. If father comes asking after me, let him know I’ll return shortly.” He kissed her cheek then, sweet and chaste but unusual for the uptight and backwards wizarding society. Maybe he did have a heart once upon a time. Hopefully he still had enough of one to put his family…put his son first for once in his life.

They excused themselves from the rest of the group and Hermione found herself following Regulus and Lucius as they left the ballroom and headed towards the long hallway that lead to Lucius and Narcissa’s wing of the house. The study was much like the rest of the house, full of dark walnut-toned woods and elegant silver accents that screamed of both privilege and opulence. There’s a gravitas to the very air of the room, and Hermione silently wonders to herself how many important decisions have been made from the very seat that Lucius rested his hand on. How many lives ruined?

With a small incline of her head, Regulus cast a silencing charm on the door and a locking charm. Lucius, who merely raised one perfectly trimmed blonde eyebrow, calming evaluating what sort of threat Regulus Black and his petite French girlfriend could pose. He made the same mistake that every over-confident, self-indulgent bastard made when meeting her. Never underestimate a woman with nothing to lose.

“I suppose this is either a very lucrative and secretive business deal, or I have been lied to.” It was amazing, watching the death eater switch from being a host of a party to being a cruel and calculating villain. Perhaps it was easier this way. This was the Lucius Malfoy that Hermione had watched being put behind bars.

“Now I wouldn’t say I lied. We have a deal for you but it has nothing to do with business.” Regulus sat himself down then, in one of the luxurious emerald velvet armchairs opposite the desk and sat with a bored indifference as Hermione prepared herself. Slowly, she pulled aside the slit in her dress.

Scoffing, the blonde wizard shot Regulus a glare. “If I wanted a whore, I could have my pick of…” He was cut off, his mouth moving but no sound coming out as Hermione had retrieved her wand from her thigh holster. Cancelling out her previous transfigurations, golden blonde curls slowly faded into her normal chestnut brown, and dusty blue eyes darkened to a chocolate brown. Her gait was menacing as she walked towards the now still and silent wizard she had to convince.

“I am no whore. I am your only hope.” It was the truth. If Lucius didn’t help her…wouldn’t help her, then his fate would be the same as it had in her time. She would see him locked away in Azkaban forever.

Lucius went to respond, but was prevented from doing so by the charm Hermione had cast on him. Making sure to make eye contact with him as she did so, she non-verbally cast the counter-charm.

“You’re the one who threatened Rowle.” It was a statement of fact, not a question and Hermione just nodded her head. For a moment, she wished she knew legilimency to see what was happening inside his brain. Grey-ish blue eyes stared back at her with a curiosity that seemed to be weighing against the knowledge that he was likely supposed to kill her on sight.

“What exactly is it you have to offer?”


	19. An Ally and An Enemy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has finally gotten Lucius Malfoy alone. Can she convince him to betray his loyalty to Voldemort and join her cause?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy everybody! Here is this weeks chapter which once again, is full of angst and drama. What can I say, I'm good at one thing. Big big thanks to rotehexe for betaing and also a huge thanks to all of you who take the time to leave me comments or like this story. It truly, truly means the world to me. If you haven't already, please head over to my drabble collection Fireside Drafts for a Valentine's Day themed Regulus/Hermione AU.

“No.” 

Hermione blinked back her confusion. She had just spent an hour explaining her situation to Lucius Malfoy and he merely sneered at her and said no in response? Her fingers itched up her wand, swallowing the anger that would see her hex his bollocks off.

“What do you mean no?” It must’ve been in her eyes how murderous her rage was growing because Regulus stood calmly and placed himself physically between where Hermione was standing and where the blonde wizard sat smugly in the leather chair that was probably older than all three of the occupants combined. Regulus held out his hand for her wand, and Hermione knew that if she held onto it any longer, Lucius Malfoy would get hurt in some way.

“I find no to be a very simplistic word. You should have a great understanding of it in your lexicon. That is if you are half as clever as you think you are.” The menacing smirk that graced his thin lips made Hermione hunger for blood…his blood specifically. How many times in her life would a Malfoy insult her intelligence with a smile on their lips? He rolled his eyes at the balling of her fists. “What are you going to do? Go muggle on me?”

That was it…she realized. In her haste to explain herself, she forgot the most important part. Derailed and distracted by his peppering of questions about the future, she had never once brought up the other Malfoy she’d wanted to…and actually did, punch in the face.

“You wouldn’t be the first Malfoy I’ve punched you know – if I was to go muggle as you said.” This gained the intrigued response she’d been waiting for from the man. Regulus knew how to play this game, and Lucius Malfoy’s one pressure point was his family.

“And pray tell, when did you punch my father? Unless of course you’ve laid hands on my wife or mother which I highly doubt as one lives in France and the other would never have let you survive such an encounter.” It was true. Hermione saw it in his face. This Lucius loved his wife, he believed in her…she would soon bear him a son.

“No, it was not your father or your mother or Narcissa.” She smirked at him now, turning the dynamic on its head. Hermione would tease and torment him and let him be the one to squirm.

Touching his fingertips together in front of his face in thought, all joking left his face. The gaze he fixed on her now was altogether predatory. Every inch the snake she knew hid behind the glamour of pureblooded society, she felt his eyes as if they were under her skin, seeing right through her.

“I suggest you explain yourself more clearly then. I have no more family.” This was the moment. This was the opportunity. He was an elegant gazelle lapping up water at the local watering hole and she was what she was born to be…a lioness. Going for his throat, she smiled smugly at him and leaned in to his body, nearly whispering the words.

“You are about to. Have more family that is.” Paying attention to her nails and refusing to meet his eyes, she could see his body stiffen in the corner of her eye. It was a particularly cruel and nasty trick, but she needed this…needed him.

“I will not play these games any longer.” Within a moment, Lucius’s wand was at her throat, and she realized that maybe she had gone too far. Hermione knew how hard it was for him and Narcissa to conceive. Draco had even spoken of multiple lost pregnancies before him when she’d gleaned information on his family from him. It was not one of her prouder moments.

“You will have a son. Don’t believe me, go perform a detection charm on your wife.” Hermione refused to break eye contact, refused to let Lucius have any power over her. She was not the little girl who met him in Diagon Alley when she was 12 years old. Hermione Granger was a grown woman who had more raw magical power than he would ever know.

“I…” Lucius backed away from her, shoving the tip of his wand at her throat briefly first. “She can’t. We were told it wouldn’t happen.”

“Its already happened.” Taking a deep breath, Hermione tried to push aside her knowledge of the monster this man would one day be. He may be a monster already, but in this moment, he was a man who desperately wanted to be a father. If she gave him the chance, he could be a better one this time around. “You have a pensieve correct?”

Lucius didn’t respond verbally, just jerking his chin in the direction of a silver wall-mounted basin to their left. It was ornately carved with gemstones embedded in the top design…a gaudy and ostentatious sign of wealth, but one Hermione was grateful to see.

Placing her wand against her own head, she focused intently on her strongest memories of Draco Malfoy. The day she met him on the Hogwarts’ Express. The first time he called her a mudblood. The day he brought Death Eaters into the castle. The grey eyes she stared at desperately pleading for help while she screamed…while she bled…while he did nothing. Tears were streaming down her face by the time the last memory had been extracted, and she dropped them into the pensieve.

“Go look for yourself. I’ll…” She shook, rubbing away her tears. The air grew tight, and she knew that she needed to remove herself from this room. Away from the oppressive mahogany and walnut and silver with emerald green. “I’ll wait outside. Watch these memories. Watch what your loyalties do to your son.”

Escaping without a second look to either man in the room, she slid out from behind the door. She didn’t bother with her enchantments, knowing that no one from the party would dare to trespass in Narcissa and Lucius’s personal wing. Deep breaths came hard at first, but eased as minutes passed.

The anxiety of waiting seemed to war with the anxiety of her torture, and strangely enough, the two seemed to balance out. If she failed, if Lucius didn’t agree to help her, then she would cast the Imperius herself. This was about more than just Lucius Malfoy and his family or her personal vendetta against Voldemort. This was about the thousands of lives lost to a meaningless fight that would be lost anyway. There were no winners in this war, just those who lost less.

“Hermione.” Regulus’s voice came through a barely cracked door, and Hermione breathed deeply as she stood. Her knees shook slightly as she rose, but she steeled herself as she turned the doorknob.

“So?” She asked, as she slunk back into the room, closing the heavy wooden door behind her. Her heart was beating so hard in her chest, that she could feel its flow in her toes, her ears and her fingertips.

“I have a son…I have a son and I fail him.” It was perhaps the most genuine emotion she had ever seen on the blonde wizard’s face, and it nearly made her feel sorry for him. Nearly.

“You do. He takes the mark at 16. A punishment for your ineptitude. Do you know how your precious Lord gets him to take it? He threatens your wife…his mother. I knew Draco from when I was 11 on, but I didn’t know him properly until after…” She wouldn’t tell him about Harry. He didn’t deserve to know. “By the time I talked with him, he was a broken and rotting shell of a man being slowly pieced back together by the woman he loved. You can’t even be there for your son because you are rotting in Azkaban under a life sentence.”

Hermione kept her tone harsh, growing angrier with each passing word. This man destroyed so many lives, not least of which was that of his own son.

“Regulus says you have a plan…a way to destroy the Dark Lord.” His voice hung in the air as if it wasn’t necessarily a question or a declaration but rather a prayer. It was clear in the way he spoke, the red inflammation around his eyes…he wanted Voldemort dead, and he would do anything to help her do it.

“Well the first thing I need, is a diary.”

* * *

Too much time had passed by the end of their discussion, and Hermione and Regulus left Lucius with a Hermes coin and a promise of another conversation. When the word horcrux had left her lips, the blonde wizard had flinched back as if she had slapped him and frowned. “Dark magic like that…he’s a madman.” Lucius had commented, growing deathly pale as Hermione told him that Voldemort had created not one, but multiple. He wouldn’t make seven, she noted. Not in this time. Tom Riddle would never have the opportunity.

When Hermione arrived back to the study at Grimmauld Place, she felt the magic of the room remove the glamours that she had placed on herself and marveled at how relieved she was. A sense of dread had been her constant companion ever since Regulus formulated the plan all that time ago. It was a similar feeling to drifting mindlessly in the ocean and finally spotting land. However craggy and inhospitable the land was, it was a start.

“Regulus…” Hermione’s voice left her in a rush, like her chest had been pressed and all the air in her body rushed out. “I…thank you. Thank you so much. Lucius is…this will change everything. Thank you for taking me up on my offer – for choosing to believe my crazy story. We are one step closer to putting Voldemort in the fucking ground and I couldn’t have done it without you.”

The gratitude she felt coursed through her veins, bursting out as she wrapped her arms tightly around him. He was not a very warm and gentle person, nor did he particularly enjoy physical contact, but she felt him relax slightly in her embrace. Slowly, he wrapped his arms around her in return, however hesitant and stiff they were.

“Thank you as well.” Regulus began, and Hermione pulled back. “For offering.” Stormy and warring eyes met her gaze and she wondered, not for the first time, what was going on in the man’s head. In her expectations of how the past would go, becoming genuine friends with Regulus Black had never been a part of the equation. Regulus. Lily. James. Hermione had never planned for their friendship.

Just as soon as the moment between them had come, warm and endearing, it was broken again by a familiar wailing. Regulus, obviously switching into a protective stance, held his lithe fingers up to his lips to indicate that they should be silent.

“Reggie is that you? Do you have that pretty French witch with you? I’m having Kreacher serve tea in the parlor.” Walburga’s unmistakably unpleasant voice rang through the wood and Hermione was reminded of the last time she’d heard that voice; when that voice had condemned her own son to be kidnapped and likely murdered.

“Shite.” Regulus cursed under his breath. There was no way that Hermione could slip out with Walburga in the parlor. Panic stricken eyes shifted anxiously to the man, and he took a deep breath and hung his head. Leaning in towards the witch who looked as if her heart might stop, Regulus’s voice was filled with hesitation. “She’s heard your voice, I can’t make up an excuse. Either you floo away and she becomes suspicious of the mysterious French woman who fled her home or…” He paused, clearly pained by whatever it was that was coming next.

Based on the pain in his expression, Hermione knew what he was going to say, but she prodded him anyway. “Or…”

“Or you could…bloody hell.” Regulus pulled his hand up to cover his face. “Or you could have tea with my mother.”

It was a catch 22. There was no way Hermione could escape the house without raising suspicion of herself. She would have to take tea with Walburga Black.

* * *

Resuming the glamours when she left the study felt like a betrayal. Occlumency became increasingly difficult as memories of wanting to set her portrait on fire pulled to the front of her consciousness. Being in the same room as Walburga had been something she’d painfully avoided for a majority of the time she’d spent in Grimmauld Place, and it was an unpleasant turn of events to say the least that her streak was to be broken.

“I need you to give me your wand.” Regulus warned, his hand against her back leading her gently out of the study. It was rational, Hermione knew this. Regulus didn’t trust her to be in the same room as Walburga without harming her in some way and he was right not to. Pulling the wood from where it rested underneath the black fabric of her dress, she unclipped it from the holster around her leg. The wizard watched her with hungry eyes before having the awareness to look away, embarrassed.

The vine wood responded to her heightened agitation and sparked slightly when Regulus’s thin fingers wrapped around the handle. Hermione just shrugged. It was not her fault that her wand could tell that she wanted to murder the blood purist bitch. 

Tottering on her aching feet in the tall heels she had decided it was a good idea to wear to be on her feet all day, Hermione pasted on her brightest smile and rounded the corner that stood between her and the parlor. The dreary room seemed to be made somehow bigger by the lack of Walburga’s portrait, but infinitely smaller due to her live and in person. As is customary when greeting pureblood women, Hermione kissed her on either side of her face.

“Eet is a pleasure to meet you Lady Black. Regulus ‘as told me so much about you.” If the older witch could tell Hermione’s voice was as fake as her glamours, there was no sign of it as the woman smiled with all of her teeth and no warmth. 

The man in question followed in after her then, settling in the chair that Hermione knew was Sirius’s favorite in her time. She found herself briefly watching with unwarranted fascination as the younger black lounged in the chair in a much stiffer manner than Sirius had ever done. In every way that Regulus was prim and proper, Sirius was loose and vulgar. The space where her heart would be if she had the time to indulge it stung as she found herself thinking of his long limbs and warm touch.

Walburga’s voice came back into her focus as she heard the witch call her false name, and Hermione slowly turned her head, diverting her eyes and blushing slightly at having been caught unaware. “You seem distracted dear. Don’t tell me that there is some wizard waiting on you back in France.”

A pedantic and petty part of Hermione strongly wished she could lie to the woman and tell her all about her army of muggleborn lovers, but she swallowed down her hatred and responded in the sing-songy fake French accent she’d become used to using.

“Oh non. I am ‘ow do you say…on the market.” The women shared a giggle, and it nearly choked Hermione in her throat, burning like acid as it bubbled up from her throat.

“I must sound like one of those harpies at the Malfoy’s ball, but you really are so lovely. Regulus is still a bachelor you know…” She was cut off by Regulus making a groaning noise.

“Mother. I’ve told you, Ms. Selwyn is just a friend. Besides I’m still a bachelor because no one wants to marry the spare.” Hermione’s eyes snapped to his, and she saw the genuine hurt flash in his grey eyes for only a moment before they once again lost their life flicker and returned to the bored indifference he was so good at putting forth.

“You aren’t a spare.” Walburga spit out, dropping the façade of being a pleasant and proud mother for a moment. Seemingly remembering herself, she turned and cleared her throat. “I do apologize Ms. Selwyn. Regulus will be the heir soon enough, once my son of a bitch blood-traitor son is dead or my husband’s father finally has the bollocks to properly disown him.” 

Sirius wasn’t properly disowned? This information could be useful later on. Hermione saw an opportunity to gather more information, and she pounced on Walburga like the lioness she had grown to be throughout her childhood. “Regulus has told me so little about his brother.”

“Regulus has no brother. That little blood traitor stopped being my son the day he was sorted into Gryffindor. When it comes to the Black family, we believe in purity and honor above everything.  _ Toujours Pur _ . He threw all that away when he befriended a blood traitor and a half-breed. If it were up to me, he would be treated like all black sheep and stray dogs and put down…” Walburga’s voice cut out as the beam of red light hit her straight in the chest. Hermione blinked once and then again as her heartbeat rang in her ears. Rage filled her body and her fists were drawn so tight that she could feel a small trickle of blood run through her fingers as her nails cut into her palm.

“Fuck.” Regulus cursed, rushing over to check his mother. “Alive.” He confirmed, staring at Hermione with a new emotion…fear.

“I…I’ve never had such a powerful bout of accidental magic. When I was a girl I made books float to me, vanished a mean girl’s crayons…I didn’t…I’ve never…” Air became thin around her as her lungs struggled to fill. She’d just jeopardized her whole mission. If Walburga awoke and remembered Hermione attacking her, she would want revenge. It wouldn’t take much digging to figure out Jolene Selwyn didn’t exist.

“Breathe Hermione.” Regulus grabbed Hermione’s hand, which had grown cold over the course of the tea and placed it against his chest. “Feel me breathe and do as I do.” Breathing in through his nose and out through his mouth, she closed her eyes. It was easy, to feel the slow rhythmic pulse of his chest, but it was infinitely harder to get her chest to rise and fall. Her panic didn’t recede, and she could feel the wizard’s own breathing get more strained as he began to panic. Moving away from her, Regulus seemed to walk away and leave her, and Hermione whimpered and sobbed as her anxiety came crashing around her.

Alone, her chest heaved with the effort of breathing and she shook uncontrollably. Her eyes were shut so tight that it was like the black and white static from the telly was displaying across the inside of her eyelids. After an indistinguishable amount of time, Hermione heard the distinctive click of the front door of Grimmauld Place, and she wondered if it was Regulus returning, or someone come to kill her. Helpless and broken, she felt tender arms embrace her.

Tears were streaming down her face, and the last thing she remembered before she blacked out were the grey eyes that she saw when she opened hers…the wrong grey eyes. “Sirius…”


	20. Better Left Unsaid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Sirius have an important discussion, but can they ever truly be what the other needs?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, sorry for the small delay in Sunday's posting. I'm super sick and knocked myself out with some heavy medication basically all day yesterday. Nevertheless, here is your next chapter. These next few chapters are going to cover a lot of important plotty stuff, but I promise you'll still get your juicy interactions between Hermione and everyone's favorite bad boy brothers. As always, big thanks to rotehexe for betaing, and a huge thank you to all of you. Every single kudo and comment makes my day.

“Yes its me.” Sirius’s husky voice greeted her, sounding like the most beautiful noise despite the continued muffled ringing in her ear. This was by far the worst panic attack she’d had since Harry’s death. Every time she endured one, she felt like she might die, but this was the first time she was tempted to wish for death so everything would just stop. 

They sat like that for a few moments, Sirius’s large and rough hands gently cradling Hermione’s petite form as if she might break. Her glamours were not as strong now, having faded over the course of time that she had been sobbing and shaking. Bits of brown curl poked through the blonde sheen, and her one eye was still the grey-ish blue she had charmed it to be. Her dress was ripped down her side, which she had a vague memory of doing at some point in an effort to get more air.

When Hermione’s breathing evened a little, he picked up the teacup that had been tossed off the table during the fight and filled it with water. He didn’t hand it to her, simply placing it next to he knee where it rested against the carpet. There was an armchair behind him that he adjusted himself to rest against…the same warn warm-brown leather chair that she had watched Sirius sit in so frequently. It was still so startling…to see Sirius as a young man.

The man she’d known was so cracked and broken and tired. This Sirius was tired but it was in a different way. Like he was a dying star and at some point he would explode and consume everything around him. Frustration decorated his face in a way that the scars of his time in Azkaban never did. This Sirius was angry. His knuckles were wrapped in bandages that Hermione knew were not from their interaction in Diagon Alley.

Remembering suddenly, the thing she had forced him to forget, brought a renewed heat to her cheeks – which had gone incredibly pale during her attack. “There’s my girl.” Sirius joked, his perfectly lopsided grin causing her chest to ache. It was brutally unfair, she determined, that he was even more handsome in his youth.

“I’m not your girl.” She choked out, her voice small. By this time, she had pulled her knees up to her chest and was desperately clutching them tight against her body. It helped sometimes, to make herself small.

“I know.” Sirius responded, his voice just as small as she felt. There was an unspoken conversation happening between them; in words unspoken and drifting gazes.  _ You could be _ , his eyes pleaded, grabbing the teacup that must’ve belonged to Regulus and vanishing the forgotten tea inside, filling it instead with the amber liquid from his flask. He offered it to her, not surprised when she simply shook her head. Alcohol was not a wise choice after an attack like this.

Sipping gingerly at the drink in his hand, he let the warmth and burn of the firewhiskey flow through him. Who needed liquid luck when you could be a drunkard? It didn’t seem like it in the moment, but Sirius had actually been drinking less since meeting this enigmatic witch. Everytime he reached for his flask, he remembered her…her firewhiskey coloured eyes staring back at him on the steps of Longbottom Manor.

“Can I…if someone did something to you…something awful, would you ever be able to forgive them?” Her eyes were still large and red and puffed from her sobs, and her glamours had finally faded, leaving a trainwreck in a pretty dress.

“I suppose it would depend on if they had a good reason. Although if you’re worried about almost killing my mother, don’t be. I only wish I could’ve seen the witch get what was coming to her myself.” He leaned his head against the chair, refusing to look at her. “Today was the first time Regulus has spoken to me in 6 years. For you. He came to find me for you. Don’t…” His voice broke, and he took a long swig from his firewhiskey.

“I know that Dumbledore has you working on some grand plan, but please just…he’s my brother. Please just tell me what’s going on.” When his eyes finally did meet hers, there was a forthright devastation she’d never seen from him before. His emotions were always hidden, layered beneath a carefully crafted persona of indifference, alcoholism, and wit. This was who Sirius Black truly was, beneath all the muck.

Hermione had no choice. She had to tell him.

“I…you have to understand. I can’t tell you. Not yet. You have to…I need a vow. Not an unbreakable. If you take a vow that you will not act on the information I give you or share it with anyone, I will tell you everything.” It was a risk. Remus was more level-headed, fiercely loyal, but level-headed. If Sirius found out about Peter or the Potters and did anything to change the timeline severely, it could change everything. Hermione needed Voldemort to think Pettigrew was not compromised. She needed him to show up on October 31 in two years’ time and try to kill her friends. She needed this all to go relatively as planned or the despair would consume her.

Sirius was taken aback by her words, as frenzied and insistent as they were. Did he trust this witch enough to give her his word on pain of death? Could he promise that he wouldn’t act on this information? She was watching him carefully now, exhaustion clear on her face. This secret had been too heavy a burden and maybe, just maybe, if she told Sirius, the tightness in her chest that formed every time she thought of him would go away.

His lips were tight as if he was evaluating the worth of her words. Hermione’s mind ran relentlessly as he considered her offer. It was mid-October now, and she had less than a month before Regulus would be asked to offer Kreacher’s services. Sirius’s birthday…she reminded herself.

“Alright.” Sirius’s sad eyes were stony once again, locking his gaze onto her with an intensity that felt like it might burn her if she kept looking.

“I need my wand. I…I gave Regulus my wand.” There was shame in her voice and her face as she spoke, and she wondered for a moment if the tears that had only barely just stopped would start again. Sirius simply nodded his head, standing and moving towards the threshold that lead to the hallway. His feet sounded the creaks of the stairs as he walked. Hermione counted the seconds from when his footsteps stopped until they were once again sounding down the stairs. 26 seconds in total.

He had her wand in his hand when he returned, the light wood of her wand looking too small in his large hands. “Why did Regulus have your wand?” Sirius asked. He could have asked Regulus, Hermione knew this, but instead he stood in front of her holding her own wand. 

“He didn’t want…” A strangled, choking laugh bubbled up from her throat and she took a deep breath to cut herself off. “He didn’t want me to curse Walburga. Lot of good that did. How…how is she?”

It was a simple question really, but it was complicated for Sirius to answer. Hermione knew that he wanted her dead; for all she had done to him and to Regulus. But could he really wish that she had died instead. Was there a small part of him that still loved his mother?

That question and the one she had vocalized were both answered by his next words. “She’ll live. A pity. Now how does this vow work? You said its not an unbreakable?”

“No. I invented it. Its binding and will stunt your magic if its broken, but it won’t kill you.” That seemed to be all Sirius needed, as he sat cross-legged in front of her. Holding out his forearm with her wand clutched in his outstretched hand, she grabbed her wand and placed her own hand near his elbow, locking their arms together. The same faint yellow glow wrapped itself three times around their skin, shimmering against the tattoos that painted his skin.

“I, Hermione Granger, do swear that I will hold the reveal my secrets to Sirius Black, on the condition that he may not use this information to attempt to affect change or share this information with anyone who does not already know it.” Hermione’s voice was steady as she spoke. Sirius’s answer to her was self-explanatory, so she watched as the animagus spoke intently and directly.

“I, Sirius Black, do swear to receive the secrets revealed by Hermione Granger, and accept the condition that I may not use this information to affect change or share this information with anyone who does not already know it.” When he was done speaking, the light burned so bright that she had to look away, and break the eye contact they’d had. Her skin ache dully where the spell had constricted, but she pulled her arm away.

“Alright witch. You have your vow, now tell me everything.”

* * *

It took twice as long to explain her story to Sirius as it did with Lucius. Hermione found herself telling him things that she hadn’t told Regulus or Remus. How she had cried herself to sleep every night for months after she arrived in the past. How she kept a picture of her parents hidden away in her bag that she couldn’t bear to look at. How she had visited Hermione Granger in hospital in the maternity wing. She was so tiny, and Richard and Helen Granger were overjoyed to have her. Every little crack that the past had put in her armour, every chink in her otherwise sturdy defenses.

Sirius didn’t speak the whole time, not even to ask questions as Lucius had. It was like she was 16 again. They both used to wake up in the middle of the night and sneak some ice cream in the kitchen and talk about the things that were really bothering them. He used to tell her his horror stories about Azkaban, how Padfoot kept him sane. She would tell him of the nightmares she had about the moment she realized Cedric was dead…how easy it would have been for it to be Harry’s body lying there instead.

This was so similar to that, and Hermione found herself feeling foolish again, just as she had when her schoolgirl crush on Harry’s handsome Godfather had first begun.

When she was done with her tale, caught up to the most recent activity of having successfully convinced Lucius to help her cause, she waited for his response. Sirius was stoic as he processed all she had told him. The one thing that she hadn’t said, was likely the most important thing to share.

“There is…I…fuck.” Hermione hissed between pursed lips. She needed to tell him everything, no matter how horrid her decisions were. There was no regret in her; she didn’t have the strength or time to regret what she’d done. “I’ve altered a memory…of us. You were…Merlin you were getting too close and I can’t fail my task Sirius. I can’t fail him.” Tears threatened to spill out as she bit her lip to avoid it. The sleeve of her jumper ran under her eyes as it had done many times throughout this story, rubbing away the weakness.

“You’ve altered my memory?” The betrayal was the first thing she heard in his voice, and it cut into her like a sharp knife. “What…” He cleared his throat, looking away from her and seemingly staring at a frayed piece of thread on the Persian rug they sat on. “You know what, it doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”

“Sirius you have to understand…” Hermione’s voice was pleading but cut off by a suddenly furious wizard.

“No. I do not  _ have _ to understand. Coming through time is dangerous enough, I get that. I get why you had to keep it a secret from me, but to take my memory? That’s crosses so many lines that I don’t even know where to fucking begin.” His nostrils flared as he scrambled to his feet, pacing the length of the room at such a speed Hermione briefly wondered if the friction from his feet alone might set it alight.

She didn’t respond to him, mainly because he was right. Looking through someone’s mind was such an intimate act and doing so without permission or consent is an assault. Hermione’s head hung in her hands as she waited for him to scream. 

“I can forgive you for your lies and your secrets. But I can’t…I can’t forgive you for this. I thought I might even…and you betray me like this?” She’d seen Sirius angry, seen him face down Death Eaters, murderers, his demented family…and she had never seen his eyes like this. It was his bitter disappointment that hurt her the most of all. “Keep Reggie safe. Whatever it is that comes.” Grabbing his leather jacket from where he’d left it on the arm of the chair that his mother had been sitting in, he began to leave.

“Sirius wait…” Her voice escaped her throat before she’d even really processed it.

The wizard turned back towards her for only a moment, the hurt plain on his face. Hermione ran back to the study, grabbing her beaded bag from where she had deposited it. Fumbling and searching, a moment later she pulled out a glass phial filled with a glowing light blue liquid.

When she walked back to the sitting room, she was somewhat surprised to see the man was still there.

“Here. Its yours anyway.” Hermione placed the phial in his rough hands, longing for when his touch used to make her feel warm. Now all she felt was cold.

As if at a loss for words, Sirius merely grunted, wrapping his fingers around the glass and shoving it into his pocket. “Goodbye.”

He didn’t look back.

* * *

When Regulus finally came down the stairs of Grimmauld Place, each one creaking as his foot fell on it, Hermione was sitting in the armchair that had been Sirius’s favorite. Her large brown eyes seemed to stare at a fixed point where the dowdy wallpaper was peeling from the wall near the fireplace. There was an emptiness to her gaze that reminded him of the detached way Sirius used to wander the halls of the house like he was haunting it. The utter devastation wasn’t obvious. It was apparent in little ways; like the way her eyebrows drooped in towards the sad downturn of her smile.

“What happened? Where’s Sirius?” It had been obvious to Regulus by now. His brother had always gotten everything that he’d ever wanted, Hermione had just been another case. But seeing the broken shell of the passionate and talented witch he’d come to know in the months since she’d fallen out of the sky infuriated him.

“Gone. I…I told him everything.” Hermione’s voice was small as she spoke, barely crossing the void between them. Regulus slowed his approach, taken aback by the shock of this news. She had always argued that Sirius was a liability…too volatile to be trusted with this information. What changed?

The wizard straightened his collar, suddenly finding himself angry at her distress. Then his anger dissipated into guilt as Regulus realized that he had been the one to bring Sirius to her in the first place. “I’m sorry. I thought he could help you…more than I could.” Bitterness laced his voice so thickly that Hermione nearly laughed at the irony. The Black Brothers truly never stopped surprising her. 

“It was smart of you.” Hermione stood then, patting down the skirt of her dress to smooth it. “Walburga?” It was less of a question and more of a command to tell her what had happened once her attack had started.

“Resting. I cast a memory charm. Not the smoothest magic, but not bad for a first time. As long as she never sees you as Jolene again, I think that she won’t recognize you or remember what happened.” She nodded tightly at him, rubbing her hands together as she often did when she was thinking. It was a nervous habit Ron and Harry had teased her for relentlessly.

“It won’t matter in three weeks’ time anyway.” Hermione reminded him. It was so close now that she knew that there was no more time to waste. Lucius would be delivering her the diary soon and she already had the diadem; the ring was tucked safely in the gaunt shack, and the cup was presumably in the Lestrange vault. The locket was the only missing puzzle piece.

“Are you ready?” The way her voice trembled as she looked at him caught him off-guard again. She had never been so vulnerable, even in her most panicked moments. The wear and tear of this life was clearly getting to her.

“To die?” Regulus laughed darkly to himself, curling the corners of his lips up into a sadistic smirk. “I’ve been prepared to die every waking moment since getting this mark on my arm…and some of the sleeping ones as well. Besides. I’m not going to actually die…” He paused for a moment, the laugh sticking in his throat like he was choking. “Right?”

Hermione was reminded then of just how young he was. He hadn’t even living and he was so ready to die; it was too similar to Harry in the last days of the war.

“You won’t die. I won’t let you. You’ll need to go into hiding afterwards though…until he’s finally gone.” They had never discussed the after, mostly because talking about his death in the future was not something he ever seemed interested in.

“I…I don’t want to die. Just promise me I’ll be alright.” His voice cracked under the weight of the thing they’d been dancing around since she’d arrived. Regulus was afraid to die. There was permanence to death that hung over the air around it. No matter how prepared someone thinks they are to go, facing mortality is still so difficult. Hermione crossed the short space between them and gingerly wrapped herself around the tall man. She tried to instill in him confidence and strength, but they both knew that she couldn’t make that promise.


	21. The Inevitability of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has somehow been roped into a Halloween party at the Burrow, but can she deal with the discoveries made while she is there. With her mission looming on the horizon, what will she do when everything starts happening too fast?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I am still slightly ill, but I was able to get some writing done this week. All I can say is thank goodness for both my beta and her blessed idea to stockpile some excess chapters. Anyway, we're getting into the real meat of this story now, and I'm so excited to share the next few chapters with you! As always thank you all so so much for the wonderful and kind support you've shown my story and a huge thank you to rotehexe for answering me at all hours to help me with this.

Fabian and Gideon Prewett were…Hermione wasn’t quite sure how to describe the not-quite Weasleys. She knew that Molly had given Fred and George their middle names after the men, but she hadn’t realized how utterly similar to the boys they were.

The Weasleys were hosting a Halloween party, at the insistent request of their almost seven-year-old son, Charlie. Hermione had first seen the Weasleys in this time when she went shopping one day in the Alley in mid-October.

* * *

_ “Charlie Weasley if you don’t stop trying to sneak those licorice wands into your pocket, I will lock up your dragon doll for a month!” Molly Weasley’s familiar maternal voice filled the space of Flourish and Blotts. There was a small pile of candies spread on top of the counter, and Hermione could see the small child trying desperately to reach a few. Charlie had never been quite as tall as his brothers, or even Ginny for that matter, but it made Hermione smile to watch the mischievous way he looked at the forbidden sweets. _

_ “You really should listen to your mum.” Hermione insisted, gathering her skirt in her hand so she could squat down to his height. His hazel eyes and bright red hair seemed so far gone from the scarred and serious man she’d last seen a year or two after the war…she’d stopped counting how long it had been when her research overtook her. _

_ “Mum says we shouldn’t talk to strangers.” Charlie’s small voice insisted, but there was a but lingering in the air. _

_ “But…” Hermione led, pulling the corner of her lips into a smirk as the six-year-old’s face lit up at her understanding. _

_ “But lets say you buy me a licorice wand and then we’re not strangers anymore.” She had to bark out a laugh at his self-assuredness, which earned a frown from the boy as well as a pout. Ruffling his hair slightly, she shook her head. _

_ “Your mum doesn’t want you to have sweets. There’s no tricking me. But maybe…” Hermione looked around herself dramatically, as if looking for Molly (who she could hear chastising Bill for trying to sneak into the Dark Arts section of the store). “Maybe, I could buy you a sweet if you promise to listen to your mum for the rest of the day. She seems to have a lot to do with you and your brother.” _

_ The child seemed to war within himself with the idea of wanting a licorice wand and the idea that he would have to behave for his mother. After a moment or so, his beaming and gap-toothed grin replaced his look of intense concentration as he agreed to her terms. It was perhaps a bit silly of her to buy this child a clandestine sweet, but she had been so weighed down by the weight of the world lately and it reminded her why she was doing all this when she saw his smile. He held his small hand out to her to shake on their agreement and she was shocked how muggle a gesture it was…but then again Arthur Weasley was his father. _

_ “Charlie!! Charles Bartholomew Weasley!” Hermione laughed a little, having never heard Charlie’s middle name before. The horrified child seemed to understand this universal signal for trouble and plead with panicked eyes for Hermione to do something. Brushing her skirt straight after she rose from her squat, she called out “Over here.” _

_ Molly Weasley emerged from around the corner of the bookstore like a woman on fire. Her hair was pulled back with a clip like Hermione had always seen her when she was wrangling her children. The brown and orange sweater she wore was familiar in a way that made Hermione’s heart ache for the second mother she’d left behind. It was simultaneously a comfortable and uncomfortable feeling seeing the woman she regarded as a mother so young. Tailing behind her was a young Bill Weasley. She’d nearly forgotten what he’d looked like before his scar. _

_ “I hope you don’t mind, but I bought him a licorice wand, although it has a stipulation doesn’t it Charlie?” She lifted her heavy gaze from the smile she’d been giving Molly and looked at the six-year-old standing next to her. He gulped slightly and nodded his head. _

_ “Oh you didn’t have to do that.” There was an indignance in Molly’s eyes and Hermione realized that it might hit on a nerve for her to buy something for the younger Weasley. _

_ “No worries. He earned it in exchange for listening to you for the rest of the day.” Winking at the young boy, she looked back up at the matronly woman who seemed on the verge of tears. “I’m sorry…I didn’t mean to upset you.” Hermione was unsure what to do as the woman began to sniffle and Molly simply pulled her wand out and conjured a handkerchief. It always amazed her how skilled the witch was at household charms. _

_ “You haven’t upset me dear. It's just been so long since I’ve been around someone near my age besides my husband and you were just trying to be kind. I…I hate to ask this, but are you that girl living in Professor Dumbledore’s old house?” Hermione was hesitant for a moment, wondering exactly how the Weasley matriarch would’ve heard of her, then she remembered that the Prewett brothers had seen her at Order meetings. _

_ “Urm…yes. That’s me.” She had to cut herself off, almost forgetting that she had no reason in the past to know the Prewetts and the Weasleys were connected. By this point Charlie, who had already finished his licorice wand and was enjoying the post-forbidden fruit high that came with it, tugged on his mother’s skirt and beckoned for her to pick him up. _

_ Giving in to the sparkling hazel eyes that were pouting up at her, Molly relented and picked up the boy with a notable grunt. Charlie leaned into his mother’s ear and whispered something which resulted in a sigh on her part. _

_ “Alright. I’ll ask.” Molly turned her attention back to the mysterious witch who had been kind to her son and gave her a weak smile. “Charlie has insisted I invite you over for our Samhain party. I must admit he seems rather taken with you. He’s not normally so open to strangers.” Hermione had a sudden realization in that moment that overtook her. It was October…Ron’s birthday was in March. _

_ Tears stung at her eyes as she wondered if Molly even knew yet. She probably did, but how could Hermione even begin to ask that question. There were so many things she didn’t know how to ask. “I’d…” Hermione began, noticing that her silence had grown suspicious. Forcing her eyes away from Molly’s abdomen and back up to her friendly eyes, she swallowed back her tears. “I’d love to. Thank you for inviting me.”  _

_ “Anytime dear. I heard that your family died in this terrible war. I’ve always been of a sort to collect strays as my husband always says.” Charlie smiled up at his mom, clearly growing sleepy in her arms. “There’s always room for one more in my home.” _

* * *

That was how Hermione found herself standing (more like entrapped) between Fabian and Gideon Prewett. The red-haired men seemed fascinated by the enigma coming out of her cottage. Other than for her occasional appearances at Order meetings and a monthly trip to Diagon Alley, Hermione didn’t really mix outside her small friend group. Lily had begun to grow restless of the boys, and had instituted mandatory girls nights. This was how she had come to learn that Alice Longbottom was both a hustler and had a mouth that would make a sailor blush. But most of all, she learned how much she loved her new friends. This had though, attracted the attention of Alice’s close friends, the Prewett twins.

“Ali was telling us all about your little batch of gobstones the other day. I must say well done; no one has beaten her since…When was that Fab?” Gideon Prewett looked down at Hermione, his incredibly tall stature falling just shy of Remus Lupin in terms of overbearing height. His twin was just as physically pronounced when he responded, although both of their auras played with mischief rather than intimidation.

“Franky’s 20 th I think. Thought Alice was going to hex you blind when she caught you cheating.” The more rogueish of the two men laughed, Fabian Hermione realized. Unlike their nephews, who in their adolescence had attempted to be as similar as possible to one another in an attempt to confuse those around them, these men were very similar but had their own distinct mannerisms. Fabian had a scar running down the side of his face through his right eyebrow, as well as a more muscled build. Gideon seemed, at least on a surface level, to be of the more intellectual rather than brawny sort. She would save them if she could, but she still had time. They didn’t die for another year.

“I did not cheat! I simply…alright I may have been cheating, but Ali would have never caught me if you hadn’t pointed it out.” Gideon cleared his throat, straightening the front of his charcoal grey robes. “Regardless of who may or may not have cheated, you must tell me your secret for defeating her someday. She is a mighty powerful witch and a good friend, but she is a horrifically sore winner.”

“Talking about me are you?” A voice firmly called from behind them, and both the red-headed wizards jumped visibly as their item of gossip walked up to them. Alice’s hair was longer now than it had been at her birthday, but there was still so much of her son in her face…or was it that there was so much of her in Neville.

“Oh absolutely. They were trying to glean my gobstones secrets.” Hermione was perhaps a bit smug when saying so, but Alice crinkled her nose and stuck out her tongue. Alice and Lily were so similar in the way that they carried around a joyous energy. It was hard to be sad around them both.

“Never tell them. They know what they’ve done.” The glare that Alice sent their way made Hermione snort out a laugh because the petite woman barely reached their shoulders and yet they shrunk under her gaze. “I’m stealing her now. Lils and I have determined that men are stupid and we simply can’t endure their presence any longer.”

Being in the Burrow made Hermione feel more whole than she had been since arriving in the past, and it was made even better by the familiar paternal and maternal energies of her surrogate parents, now her friends.

Just before dinner was to be served on their Halloween feast (which if it had been left up to Charlie would have been made up entirely of jelly slugs, licorice wands and cauldron cakes) Molly and Arthur gathered everyone in their sitting room.

“Firstly, my wife and I…” There was a high-pitched throat clearing from behind Hermione’s shoulder, and she could imagine Charlie in his homemade knitted dragon costume looking indignantly at his parents. “And Charlie. Are so thrilled to have you all here in our home for a bit of fun. In these troubling times, its important to remember the goodness that still holds this world together.”

“And what better goodness can there be than new life.” Molly beamed as she placed her hand over her stomach and Arthur followed suit. When she had known them, they had always been in love, but the trials of raising seven children and the extreme loss of Molly’s brothers had weighed down on the glow of absolute bliss that seemed to radiate from them now.

“Six children…Merlin.” Fabian was the first to speak, jumping up from the comfy settee he had been sitting on and wrapping his baby sister in a tight hug. He twirled her slightly, much to her and Arthur’s distress. Gideon joined in a moment later, taking his turn to hug his sister and brother-in-law.

Hermione sat in the aftermath of the bliss feeling an uncomfortable numbness fill her. It was the same numbness that she had felt when she’d first done the math on her own. Molly was showing just a bit, if you were paying attention enough to look past her baggy jumpers and robes. Ron was in this world now, in some way…in some form, one of her best friends once again existed in the world she was shaping. If she did her job correctly, would he even be her friend? In this world she was creating, would she always be an outsider in his life? In Harry’s?

Lily was the one to bring her out of her existential dread.

“Come on. Lets go to the garden.” She allowed herself to be pulled away from it all, from the echoing laughter and cheers and congratulations.

The flowers in the garden were still blooming, only a few buds being affected by the cooling weather. “I…I didn’t congratulate them…I should’ve congratulated them.”

Hermione frantically began to pace back towards the open door to the house, but Lily’s hand caught her elbow as she attempted to pass her. “The first time I was invited to this house was a similar situation. Molly and Arthur had been a few years older than me in Hogwarts, but they’d always been kind. Once James and I got married, I suddenly found myself invited to all these pureblooded events.” Lily lead Hermione to the small fading bench near the fence and invited her to sit down. Not knowing what else to do, she obliged.

“Molly announced she was pregnant with the twins at the second party I’d attended. It was such a happy moment but my parents had just died. I should’ve been happy, but instead I just felt numb…missing the people I’d lost and wondering why life seemed to go on without them.” It was a very humanizing moment, for Hermione to see the underside of Lily’s happy existence for a moment. In her quest to make the world better for Harry, she had briefly forgotten the immense pain that Lily and James must have dealt with; both being orphaned before 21.

“Its okay to miss the people we’ve left behind. Its okay.” Lily pulled Hermione close to her and Hermione thanked Merlin once again to have had the opportunity to get to know the witch. She could see Harry in the best of her, not only her eyes, but the kindness of her heart. In this moment, sitting with Lily, Hermione felt closer to Harry than she had since the last moment he had held her in his arms over three years prior.

They sat in this quiet moment for a second or two longer, interrupted by a pop and a screeching noise coming from inside. Based on the timbre of the death threats being screamed, she imagined that one of the twins must have gotten their revenge on Alice.

“This may not be the best time to bring it up, but he’s being so secretive with us. What happened between you and Sirius? I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this.” Hermione cleared her throat, reminded of the last time she’d seen the man. This was the first time she’d seen anyone from the marauders other than Remus as they prepared for Regulus’s mission. It also reminded her that his birthday was only four days away.

“I told him a truth and he didn’t like it. I’m sorry but I really can’t tell you more than that.” Lily huffed slightly at the rebuff, reminding Hermione so much of Harry when he didn’t get his way. She wrapped her fingers around Lily’s palm and squeezed it lightly.

“It is very important to me that you know just how much your friendship has meant to me.” All the resentment of secrets that had been plain on the red-headed witch’s face seemed to melt away as it transformed into affection.

“Hermione Granger…you are the strangest witch I have ever known.” The two women shared a laugh at that, and the weight that had rested itself deep in her chest seemed to lift out. That was the last moment of peace that she would have though.

A loud popping noise appeared next to her and Hermione was caught off-guard by the house elf that now stood in the flower bed. “Master be needing the miss.” Kreacher said, ominously. No sooner completing his statement than disappearing again.

“Wasn’t that…” Lily began staring wide-eyed at the once again empty space that had only a second before held the Black family house elf.

“I am so tired of memory charms.” Hermione whined, raising her wand from the hidden pocket in her jumper to Lily’s head, confounding her slightly before removing the most recent memory. It was short and easy to find, as it was so fresh. There were moments like this where Hermione had to remind herself what was at stake; not every action she had to take to guarantee a better world would be a moral one.

“Hermione…what was I saying?” Lily cooed, rubbing her temples as a headache was likely forming.

“Oh just saying I’m rather odd. Quite rude of you actually.” Hermione gave a small awkward laugh before feeling a burning coming from the coin around her neck. Nervousness and sweat filled her and she knew that her time was up. Her mission was really, truly beginning now.

“I’ve got to go Lily. Give Molly and Arthur my congratulations.” Kissing Lily’s cheek lightly and hugging her, she ran from the garden towards the edge of the apparition line. A centering breath and uncomfortable pull at her navel later, and she was facing the picket fence of her borrowed home. It was too dangerous, especially now that she had stunned Walburga, to enter Grimmauld Place through the front door, so she had to use her floo.

The green powder turned the flames green and Hermione forced herself out of her own head. The Hermione Granger that was about to arrive in Regulus Black’s study was no longer the one that had been laughing with friends just an hour before…this Hermione Granger was getting ready for war.

“I came as soon as I could. What’s happened?” Her voice was insistent as she appeared in the study, rubbing off the soot from her cloak.

“Its time. He’s called on me. He wants Kreacher…He’s going to the cave.” 


	22. Crystal Cave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione comes to the first real part of her mission, save Regulus from his fate at the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy folks! So I am currently very distracted from writing by the state of the world, but I was able to find time to work on this story in between all my worrying. Everybody stay safe out there! As always, your feedback and support for this story means the entire world to me, and I am so blessed to have you all with me on this journey. Also a shoutout goes to Rotehexe who is always there when I need her. The next two chapters are pretty angsty but chapter 24 is a pure fluff piece!

“Okay. Don’t panic.” The words were empty, as they were more for her than for Regulus. She’d known this day would come, realistically. It had always been part of her plan for Regulus to go to the cave, this time with her to help.

“Bit late for that if I’m being honest. If that bastard hurts my elf…” Regulus didn’t need to finish the statement. Both of them already knew what the end would be; it was what had gotten him killed the first time. Elven loyalty trumped any wizard magic. Hermione sat in the overstuffed armchair that had grown into her comfy spot in the room during the course of her friendship and training with Regulus. Many hours had been spent sitting in this exact seat memorizing pureblood lines and how to properly stir your tea so as to not make any unwanted noise. All of that seemed meaningless now.

“What do we do now?” That was the crux of the issue. Of course, logistically, she knew that they had to go to the cave and retrieve the locket, but it was all so real so suddenly.

“Send Kreacher to him. We need to be sure that he suspects nothing. When Kreacher returns we…” Hermione’s eyes grew large for a moment as her lazy stare became a fixed and focused gaze on Regulus. “You’ll need to go into hiding. In my time…that is the first-time round, you died.”

“So I need to die…” Regulus drawled, the corners of his lips turning up in a sarcastic sneer. Uncomfortable laughter began to bubble up from his throat until he was choking on it. Hermione didn’t know what to do other than sit in horror and wait for him to calm. This was the first time she’d seen Regulus lose his carefully composed demeanor, and it was terrible to watch the man who had become her friend break down.

“No. No. I won’t let you die! We’ll get you out of this. I came back to save people Regulus. You are one of those people.” Hermione’s impassioned voice echoed through the room as she stood and walked up to him. His sad laughter had broken up by now, as his cheeks turned red and splotchy.

“You won’t let me die?” He asked her, his voice small and broken.

“I won’t let you.” Hermione promised, knowing how empty her words must have sounded. That was not a promise she could make.

“At least…at least tell me what I’m getting myself into.” Regulus pleaded, his grey eyes reminding her too much of Sirius in that moment. Forcing herself to look away, she twiddled her thumbs nervously.

“Some things are better off remaining unknown.”

* * *

The cave was just as horrible when they arrived as Harry had described it. Dampness and the wreak of death were the first things she experienced before even opening her eyes. The oppressive atmosphere of the salted air assaulted her senses as she and Regulus let go of the disoriented elf. Hermione wished that there had been another option other than Kreacher, but Harry had never shared the exact location of the cave, only that Professor Dumbledore had taken them there.

“Just as shit as I expected.” Regulus spoke candidly, sending Kreacher away with strict instructions to rest and heal. It was touching really, to see how much he cared for the curmudgeonly elf. Hermione approached the large stone door that guarded the entrance to the cave before holding out her arm. Regulus yelled as she set the small knife she carried in her pocket against her forearm. As the blood ran down her arm, she held it over the basin and as it filled, the stone began to move away. When the door seemed satisfied, Hermione reached into her beaded bag and pulled out a blood replenishing potion and some essence of dittany. The potion tasted like metal as it slid down her throat, and it took all of her strength not to throw it back up. The effect was almost instant as the light-headedness and nausea she had been dealing with began to fade.

“What the fuck???” Regulus finally spoke, alternating his stare between Hermione with her fully-healed arm and the basin full of her blood.

“Its meant to weaken you. Don’t suppose your Dark Lord ever thought anyone would be carrying a blood replenishing potion.” Hermione sat down briefly on a nearby rock, closing her eyes and taking long, deep breaths. “Give me a sec while the potion does its work.”

“Any other fucking surprises you’re planning for me you crazy bint? Tell me what we’re in store for!” He had a point, but Hermione knew that if she told Regulus what was next, he would try to convince her not to do it, or to let him do it.

“The next obstacle is getting across the lake.” Hermione warned without explanation, pulling out her wand as they entered the mouth of the cave that was cut into the rock. She hoped that if she didn’t give him the details, he’d simply go with her. It was a gamble, but in the end, her hypothesis proved right as Regulus moved into the cave behind her with only a few mumblings of malcontent. 

Waving her wand, she cast a quick lighting spell. The light provided by her Lumos was still barely a drop in the seemingly never-ending darkness. Regulus followed closely behind her, his own light crossing with hers. “Only one of us can cross the water. There is an army of inferi underneath the surface, and if we disturb the water, they’ll attack.” She paused for a moment before turning back to face him. She could see the distress in his eyes as she moved her wand from her right hand to her left. “That’s how you died…the first time around.”

Bitter silence followed her declaration, as the cave seemed to swallow every source of light or sound. It was an oppressive atmosphere, choking her as they crept further and further into the space. The darkness around them seemed to emanate with evil, and Hermione was certain that the locket was there. Reaching out her hand as Harry had described Dumbledore doing, a cold flood of relief overtook her as the feeling of cold metal in her palm informed her that the boat had appeared.

“Regulus…this is very important. No matter what I do, what I say, how much I beg…you need to stay here. If you don’t stay here, we’ll both die.” Hermione’s eyes were serious and dark as she looked at him. He seemed to want to argue, his grey eyes wide as he processed what she’d said.

Regulus stared at her for another moment before speaking, “Let me do it.” His voice was insistent, but Hermione simply shook her head and gathered her curls in a messy bun on top of her head.

“This is my mission Reg. If I…whatever happens, get the locket.” She didn’t hear whatever his response was, his voice overtaken by the sound of the waters at the edge of the lake as the boat approached her. It bobbed a bit as she stepped into it, and Hermione took a deep breath, trying desperately to remember what Harry had told her about that night.

The ride to the small island was quick, the island itself seemed as if it had been designed to hold a menacing object of pure evil. The basin in the middle, exactly as Harry had described it, was filled with a clear liquid that seemed to glisten strangely in her wandlight, like a mirror that was slightly skewed.

With one last look back into the darkness where she’d come from, she hoped that there would be no complications. This potion couldn’t possibly hurt her more than life already had. Finding the shell Harry had described to her took a little bit of her time, as everything had been disturbed by Regulus’s first visit that time. However, after looking behind the basin, she was able to find the small cup-like shell. She stared at her reflection for a moment, looking at the skewed image of herself that showed back and took a deep breath before dipping the tip of the shell into the liquid.

Her first sip sank in her stomach as if it had gone straight through her, causing her throat to burn. It was like a centralized cruciatus curse, spreading slowly from her lips, down her throat, and coursing into her insides. Biting back the agony that began to riddle her, she took her second sip…then her third. By the fourth, she was starting to hear the voices.

“You’ll never be good enough.” McGonagall’s distinctive Scottish brogue whispered in the back of her mind, the sound echoing against seemingly every surface of the cave.

“Why did you leave us Hermione?” Ron and Ginny’s voices spoke in unison, as visions of the friends she had left behind faded behind her.

“I had to…” She began to argue, choking on her words as she forced down another sip. This time, the images that appeared were her parents.

“It was the easiest thing we’ve ever done.” Her mum began, the pain of seeing her burning Hermione’s chest nearly as much as the potion she was taking. “To forget you.”

Her dad didn’t speak, simply turning his back on her. She never did get to say goodbye to them, not really anyway. They existed in this time, but they weren’t hers. They couldn’t be hers.

As she struggled through the fifth and sixth drinks, she became faintly aware of the screams ripping from her throat. The pain was no longer localized to her stomach, spreading throughout her body until the only thing keeping her upright was her deathly grip on the side of the basin and the lean of her body.

Two more looked like they’d do it, and Hermione raised the shell to her lips for her seventh drink. That was when Harry appeared before her.

“You let me die Hermione.” His voice accused, and she sobbed from the pain of hearing it. The last time she’d heard his voice had been the day he’d died, and she’d nearly forgotten its sound. “I went on that mission and I died. Where were you? You could’ve helped! I hate you!”

That last declaration broke something inside her, and she crumbled to the ground, unable to protect herself from the buckling of her knees. It was all her fault…Harry’s death. She could’ve stopped him…she could’ve done something. Despair chewed away at her resolve as a voice in her head whispered sweet nothings about how refreshing the water of the lake looked. A deep breath was a struggle to catch as she fought against the Not Harry vision and the horrific and throbbing pain that emanated from her core. Pushing her palms against the stone pebbles that made up the shore, she struggled to her feet.

“I couldn’t save you then, but I will do it now.” Hermione insisted, throwing herself against the basin, filling the shell with the last of the liquid. Swallowing the last drop, Hermione grabbed the locket from the bottom of the bowl and shoved it into her beaded bag, somehow pushing aside her misery and agony for long enough to summon the boat’s chain back to her hand. Not Harry’s eyes fixed on hers for a second before he evaporated like a mist into the darkness that oppressively hung around her. 

All she could think of was water, and how thirsty she was. Crawling like a dog towards the edge of the lake, her fingers stilled just before they touched the surface. A light so bright that it nearly blinded her suddenly filled the space, illuminating the dark creatures waiting just below the surface for her to summon them.

“Hermione…” Regulus’s voice called out, and she was brought back from the edge of insanity. Pulling the metal chain of the boat, she boarded it shakily, nearly toppling over as she attempted to get in. Somehow managing not to send herself plunging into the water’s dark and certain death, the boat steered itself back towards the shore. Vaguely aware of her approach, Hermione focused on her breathing, willing the pain to go away.

Her chest tightened, making air nearly impossible to breathe. When the boat bumped against the shore, Hermione tried to stand, almost falling over the side and into the freezing water. Regulus steadied her, the warmth of his hands burning against her skin…. when had she gotten so cold.

“Reg….” Hermione began, passing out into Regulus’s arms. Her body convulsed from the potion as he held her, summoning Kreacher with a panicked insistence. The plan had been for them to apparate to her home, but Regulus was nearly certain that he would splinch them both in this state. The elf popped into the cave a moment later, concern for his master appearing on his grimacing face. Seemingly relieved that it was not Regulus in trouble, Kreacher sneered at Hermione’s spasming form before placing one hand on her arm and the other on Regulus’s.

“Take us to the study of Grimmauld Place.” Kreacher nodded his head obediently before closing his eyes. The uncomfortable tug of side-along apparition filled his stomach as Regulus held onto Hermione with a grip so strong his knuckles were turning white. They stayed in the study for only a few moments so Regulus could grab his bag and then they went to their planned meet up location.

Remus Lupin’s flat was minimalistic at best, with rickety furniture barely filling the space. The werewolf was clearly unsurprised to see them when they arrived until he caught sight of Hermione.

“What happened to her?” Remus ordered, motioning to Regulus to lay her down on the couch. It was old and the floral pattern was nearly entirely faded, but there was no other option so he obliged. When they had her laying down, Regulus finally responded.

“I don’t fucking know. We were in this cave and she…I lost sight of her and then she just started screaming. For a moment…for a moment she stopped and I thought…” Regulus’s voice broke briefly, causing him to clear his throat. “The things she was saying Lupin…whatever it was that the Dark Lord had planned is a fate worse than death. By the time she made her way back to me, she collapsed in my arms.” Both men looked worriedly back towards Hermione before returning their eye contact. “Whatever the Dark Lord did, you’re not meant to survive it.”

“She can’t stay here.” Remus finally broke, running between his bathroom, bedroom and kitchen to grab her water, pain potion, and a blanket. There was an urgency in his step, and his tall frame seemed to vibrate slightly with the speed at which he flitted around the rooms.

“Like hell she can’t!!” Regulus began, cut off by Remus lifting his hand in warning. Regulus was by no means a weak wizard, but he was still very wary of the werewolf that he had become a co-conspirator with. Hermione trusted him though, and he needed that to be good enough.

“The moon is tonight. I can’t look after her. I may not like you, but I trust that you are just as worried about her as I am. Where was Hermione planning to hide you? Did she say before…well before whatever this is happened?” The blood drained from Regulus’s face as he shrank away from the werewolf. As far as he’d come in his tolerance, a small part of him still worried that Remus Lupin was a monster.

“She said…no, she never said.” It was true, and no matter how much he wracked his brain, he couldn’t think of where else to take her. Lucius’s house was too dangerous. He couldn’t be seen entering Godric’s Hollow…he couldn’t be seen at all for that matter. “I’m supposed to be dead; at least, that’s what people are supposed to think. I can’t take her to her home or to Grimmauld Place. Surely there must be somewhere we can hide.” There was a flicker of some indiscernible emotion on Remus’s face before he grabbed a handful of floo powder.

“Do you trust me?” The wolf asked, and Regulus knew that it was a serious question. He had no choice, he realized as he looked at Hermione’s unconscious form. Her convulsions seemed to have calmed slightly, but her skin was still too pale and icy to the touch.

“Do I have a fucking choice?” Regulus responded desperately, which earned a sad grimace from the werewolf. The taller man tossed the green powder in the fire and began to lift Hermione, offering for Regulus to carry the left half of her body. Between the two of them, even the dead weight of Hermione’s blacked out form was light, and they made their way to the floo.

“Where are we going?” Regulus demanded to know, pushing against Hermione’s shoulder to readjust his grip.

“93 Diagon Alley.” The green flames surrounded them as they disappeared, reappearing in a dimly lit room that Regulus had never seen before. The brown carpet under their feet crunched slightly, as if it had been singed by the floo one time too many. A red velvet couch sat empty right across from the fireplace, and Regulus and Remus laid Hermione down against its plush surface. A blue knit blanket which had been thrown over the side arm of the sofa seemed perfect to shake off Hermione’s chill, and Regulus quickly wrapped her tightly in it.

“Where are we?” Regulus insisted, the dim Victorian lamp attached to the far wall of the room barely providing any light. Pictures decorated the walls, although he couldn’t quite make out their contents with the level of light in the room.

“We’re in…” Remus began, cut off suddenly by the shock of a bright light being turned on. No, not a light, a lumos.

“Remus, care to explain what the fuck you and my little brother are doing with an unconscious woman in my flat?”


	23. Brotherly Bond

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Remus arrives at Sirius's flat with two unexpected guests, what can Sirius do? Will he choose himself or his family? Or maybe the woman he's pretty sure he loves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! I am incredibly stressed about this whole quarantine situation, and it has made it increasingly hard to write. I still have a two chapter cushion, but be aware that there may be some delays in posting in the near future. I have so much left to write in this story and I'm so excited to bring it all to you, but it may just happen at a slower pace. Everyone stay safe and stay healthy! Also, as always, a big shoutout to my beta rotehexe!

“Remus…care to explain what the fuck you and my little brother are doing with an unconscious woman in my flat?”

Sirius tried to keep his voice even, but his eyes frantically flicked back and forth between his best friend, the woman he was relatively sure might be the love of his life, and the younger brother he hadn’t spoken to for an extended amount of time in six years. Regulus, looking more like a man than even the last time his brother had seen him, was kneeling on the hard wooden floor next to an unconscious muggleborn witch. For a moment, Sirius thought he might be having a hallucination of some sort.

“They can’t stay at my flat Pads. It’s the moon tonight. She’s…” Remus’s eyes glanced away from Sirius’s in the way they always did when he was avoiding bad news. Sirius didn’t need him to answer. He could bloody well see what she was like.

“Reg.” Sirius’s voice called out, switching over to his ministry voice. He was still furious with the witch for erasing his memories and if he was quite honest with himself, for not loving him more than her mission. It was irrational; he knew this. Obviously putting Moldy Voldy six feet under was priority number one, but when he closed his eyes he saw her there and it was fucking unfair of her.

“Please Sirius…I don’t know what to do. She’s so cold.” He was stalled completely by Regulus’s voice. He hadn’t heard his brother say his name since he was 15 years old. Closing his eyes and refocusing himself, Sirius took a deep breath.

“Do you know what happened to her?” Hit-wizard mode had been activated and Sirius was using all of the training he’d had with both the order and the ministry of healing practices. When Regulus just shook his head and wrapped her tighter in the blanket that bound her, Sirius took off at a near sprint down the narrow hallway of his flat.

Lily was an over-prepared and paranoid and had gifted all the marauders and the Longbottoms emergency kits at the start of the war. Sirius wasn’t the cleanest man alive, which he much owed to being a bachelor and a hit-wizard who lived in a flat by himself, but he knew precisely where everything was in his mess. After thirty seconds of searching through his junk trunk that sat in a disused closet collecting dusk, he grew frustrated and drew out his wand.

“Accio healing kit.” A faint bumping sound coming from underneath the sink in his bathroom, signifying that magic had found what he could not. When the small white zipper bag appeared around the corner, Sirius reached out his hand to catch it. Whatever had happened to her, a bezoar was probably a good place to start. Digging through the kit for the stone only took a moment or two, and the moment his hands clasped around it, he took off back towards his parlor.

When he arrived back into the parlor,

“Shove this in her mouth. Get it as far down her throat as you can.” Regulus just nodded, catching the bezoar as it was thrown haphazardly towards him. Hermione’s breath was quick and shallow as he tried to open her mouth. Nudging her lip with the stone, he noticed how absolutely frigid her skin was. Her mouth opened just slightly enough for him to slip the smooth stone in, and Regulus tried to push it in further.

“Reg we don’t have the time for nice and gentle. Get it down her throat or she dies!” Sirius was shuffling through his potions store in his kitchen, and re-emerged with both arms full of every potion he owned. Regulus swallowed the lump in his throat of worry and pushed harder. Hermione made a small gurgling noise as the bezoar hit the back of her throat and began to fight against him, and Regulus placed his hand over her mouth to stop her from pushing it out.

After a moment of panic-instinct fighting against Regulus’s embrace, Hermione’s arched back finally relaxed and her breathing began to even out. “Oh thank Merlin.” Regulus sighed, relieved that the color was beginning to return to her cheeks. Sirius found himself fascinated by the systematic way that the beautiful pink hue began returning to her face. She truly was so beautiful, but he was still mad at her. There she lay though, having barely escaped death and looking like his own personal sleeping beauty.

He was distracted from staring at her, however, by watching his younger brother look at her the exact same way. It was like he was looking in a strange and twisted mirror, watching his little brother (who was not quite so little anymore) stare with love-torn eyes at the witch whose chest now rose and fell in a less strained and more rhythmic fashion.

“You’re in love with her…” Sirius blurted out, the words barely even registering in his brain before they tumbled forward like a gasp. Regulus flinched back and away from Hermione as his eyes grew dark and his posture grew stiff and tight. The Regulus Black who was trained to believe that Hermione was nothing more than dirt beneath his feet.

“You are bold to presume you know anything about me.” The younger Black stood to his full height, which was just a hair taller than his older brother which he would never admit gave him the smallest hint of satisfaction. “You haven’t known anything about me since you abandoned me when I was 15.”

Sirius looked between Hermione’s unconscious form and Regulus before swallowing down the bitter, sarcastic comment he was about to make…Hermione wouldn’t want them to fight. “Lets not do this now Reg. We’ll find a time, but now isn’t the right one.” It was perhaps the first mature thing he’d ever done in his life in reference to his family. He began to retreat towards the kitchen, towards the solace of his horridly brewed tea and the stale and half-eaten pastry he’d been in the middle of enjoying when Remus and Reg had arrived.

“No. You’re not running away from this. That’s all you fucking do is run away.” Sirius bit back his anger, desperately searching his cabinets for his last bottle of firewhiskey, his tea forgotten. He’d been working on getting sober, ever since Hermione had come along. It wasn’t that she’d told him to, but he could see the pity in her eyes that night when he reached for the flask…he never wanted to be pitied again.

“Fuck…” He swore to himself, swiping his hands rapid fire along the cabinets, until finally in the fourth cabinet his fingers caught the smooth handle of the bottle. Pulling it down from the cabinet, Sirius took a long, burning sip before facing his only family…if Regulus even considered him that.

Regulus caught up to him then, so close that their noses nearly brushed. In a fit of anger, the younger Black grabbed the bottle viciously from Sirius’s grip and threw it against the wall. The sound of shattering glass made both of them flinch, but neither moved away from their position.

“What the fuck do you want from me?! Do you want me to apologize for getting the fuck out of that house? Do you want me to say that I regret it? Because I don’t! You had turned your back on me, mum…Walburga wanted me bloody rotting in a coffin and dear old dad just watched it all happen.” Sirius’s anger coursed through his veins and he tried desperately to remember the calming breaths that James’ mum had always tried to get him to use when his anger got the best of him. Regulus glared at his brother with all of his strength.

“It wasn’t a fucking walk in the park for me either you wanker. Do you know what I had to deal with when you were put into the Lion’s den? She beat me…everyday. She beat me every time I talked about you. Whenever I tried to write you a letter, she said I was not going to be a blood traitor too. You weren’t there…you didn’t…” Regulus could feel the hot sting of tears burning behind his rapidly blinking eyes and turned away.

In his mind, he had imagined yelling at his brother. For years after Sirius ran away, he imagined what he might say when he finally got to tell his older brother how hurt he’d been…how abandoned he’d felt…how much he’d wished he’d taken him with him.

“Now who’s running away?” Sirius taunted from behind him, and Regulus stopped abruptly in the hallway, his hand curling into a tight fist. He wouldn’t let him get the last word.

“You want to compare battle scars? You want to see who Walburga hurt more? You may have gotten away from her but you left me behind.” There it was. That was the heart of the issue. Regulus finally broke, his voice tilting sadly as he looked his brother in the eye. Sirius was so caught up in his own misery when he was 16 that he never even considered that Regulus was just as miserable as he had been.

Sirius moved forward to place a hand on his brother’s shoulder, only to have it shrugged off. “Reg…” The sound cut off in his throat, as he choked on his own grief. Regulus moved from the hallway, back towards the room where Hermione was now asleep rather than unconscious.

“I hated mudbl…muggleborns. I hated werewolves. I hated Potter. They took you away from me. You were gone. Walburga burnt your face off the tapestry. Then the Dark Lord comes calling. I was so proud to get his mark…to make mum and dad proud…to do the one thing I knew you would hate most.” Regulus dropped into the nearest armchair and began to roll up his sleeve, exposing the hideous Dark Mark that marred his skin. Casting a heartbroken glance towards Hermione, he placed his head in his hands.

“What have I done?” Regulus mourned, his long dark hair falling around his face obscuring it slightly as he fought back tears. If he was going to have a damned breakdown, it would not be in his bloody brother’s flat.

“You did what you could Reg.” Sirius moved down to a squatting position, placing himself in front of his brother who seemed to be holding on to his control by a thread. “You did what I was too cowardly to do. You survived in that house. You’re right…I never should have left you there…left you with that woman. I’m so…I’m so sorry Reg. I was meant to protect you and I just ran away.” Sirius wrapped his arms gingerly around his brother, pulling the younger boy’s head into the crook of his shoulder.

Regulus’s eyes opened wide in surprise. It was the first time Sirius had touched him in a comforting way since he was a child. His original instinct was to fight against the embrace, to push away Sirius just as he had done when he was 16, but there was some magnetic energy keeping him in place. Gingerly, and slowly, Regulus’s arms wrapped around Sirius’s back, opening himself up to his brother.

He wasn’t quite sure when Sirius had begun crying, but he could feel the sporadic movement of his chest as they held each other. All the pain and hurt that they both felt seemed to ooze out of them as if this touch was healing their souls. In this moment, Regulus was not a Death Eater and Sirius was not an Order Member, instead they were what they were born to be, brothers.

They may have sat like that for a long time had a small voice not come from their right.

“I do hate to break up such a beautiful moment, but I feel as though I may die if I don’t get some water.” Hermione’s face was still pale, and she was so weak that her head dropped against the pillow every time she tried to lift her head. Sirius and Regulus sprung up from their healing hug and both sprinted towards the kitchen. Thirty seconds later, both men were holding out large glasses of water towards Hermione. Her brown eyes traveled between the two before weakly chuckling. Sirius and Regulus each unconsciously puffed out their chests as they silently fought over who’s water she would take.

Capable of rolling her eyes even in her weakened state, Hermione grabbed both glasses, drinking Sirius’s first and then Regulus’s. The dryness of her throat was soothed by the intake of water and slowly, she was able to move herself into a sitting position. “Regulus…” Hermione began, as she turned her head towards where the men stood near her.

“Yes?” He responded quickly, kicking off the wall where he’d been leaning. A smug smirk crossed his face as he looked at Sirius in victory.

“Can you give Sirius and I a minute?” Her face was serious as he regarded her, somewhat deflated and a bitter glimmer behind his grey eyes.

“Fine. Can I use your shower?” Regulus asked, nearly scowling and walking away before waiting for an answer. He smelled awful and if he was going to be banished he’d rather use the time to smell less like a flobberworm.

When his little brother was gone, Sirius pulled one of his armchairs up to the couch, allowing him to sit right next to Hermione. The soft, plush fabric of the couch grazed against his knuckles as he began to reach out for her before pulling back. He was still mad at her…wasn’t he?

“If you wanted me alone poppet, there were easier ways than to nearly kill yourself.” Hermione’s dry lips parted in an attempt at a pity laugh, but the sound just caught in her throat, leading to a heavy coughing fit. “Merlin Hermione I…you looked like you were dead when you got here. I thought…never do that to me again. What the fuck happened?”

Sirius leaned closer to her, his own dark unruly curls falling against her shoulder. Finally the urge to touch her face, to feel the warmth of her body that proved she was alive overwhelmed him and he reached his hand out to push a curl from her face.

“Regulus was very brave. He’s going to need you now. The Dark Lord will believe him dead, a traitor. I need you to hide him.” Sirius reared back as if Hermione had slapped him. Regulus…what happened? Why was he in hiding?

“Me? Wouldn’t somewhere else be better?” Hermione sent him one of her looks and he knew in that moment better than to question his witch. She knew more than he would ever forget. There was no way she hadn’t thought this through completely.

She sighed, knowing exactly what he was thinking. In her time, she and Sirius had never gotten to talk about Regulus, but Hermione knew how the man loved. It killed him to leave his brother behind. “Don’t let your past keep you from him.”

“And what if he doesn’t want me close?” Sirius breathed out softly. There it was, the crux of the matter. 

“He needs you. Malfoy Manor is too risky, Grimmauld Place is out of the question. There are too many chances to be seen in Godric’s Hollow. Lily comes over unannounced all the time. There’s nowhere else for me to hide him.” She could see Sirius’s grey eyes grow dark and stormy as they always did when he was making a choice. Hermione used what was left of her strength to lift her hand up to his, tracing her soothing circles with her thumb. “I need you to make sure he’s safe. I came back to save so many people and Reg…he’s one of them. He should already be dead.”

That was what broke Sirius; the image of his younger brother’s dead body. He loved his brother. As broken as their relationship was, as misguided as their attempts at reconciliation were, he loved his brother. A sob fought its way up from his chest, but he bit it back, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes. 

“I’ll do it.” Hermione’s face lit up at that, looking nearly herself as she smiled at him. His heart was heavy as he once again noticed how beautiful she was when she smiled. For the first time in over ten years, Sirius would put Regulus first.

“Thank you.” Hermione breathed out, relief painting her features as she shuffled back into her resting position. “I’ll be good as new in a bit I just have to…close…my eyes for…a moment.” Before she could even finish her last word, her eyelids fluttered closed and her breathing began to grow shallow. Sirius chuckled sadly at her statement, leaning forward and brushing his lips against her forehead. 

The flat was silent as Sirius was left alone with his thoughts. His fingers itched for the sweet relief of firewhiskey before remembering that Regulus had smashed his last bottle. Taking deep breaths, Sirius thought back to the last time he and Reg had truly been brothers. His head began to echo those self-hating insistencies that plagued him when the dull thrum of alcohol didn’t fill his head instead. Minutes later, when Regulus emerged from the shower wearing one of Sirius’s old t-shirts and a loose pair of joggers, the older Black knew what he had to do.

“Do you really only own ratty old peasant clothes? Honestly haven’t you ever heard of a tailor…” Regulus was cut off when a large impact hit his chest. Sirius had crossed the room in an instant, wrapping his arms so tightly around his little brother that the younger wizard could hardly breathe.

“Urm…” Regulus started, not quite sure what was happening and not quite comfortable with the intimacy of this hug. “Can you get off?”

“No. Reg…I’m so glad you’re alive.” Sirius’s arms moved to separate the two so he could look at him fully. “I’m so sorry for everything…can we…can we be brothers again? Stay with me. I’ll hide you. I’ll make bloody sure you survive this war. We’ve lost so much time just…please…please let me protect you. Let me have one more chance to be your big brother.”

In all his years of knowing Sirius, he had never before seen the man beg. Not when Walburga cast the cruciatus curse on him. Not when he was being beaten. Not when she burned his face off the family tapestry. This was the first time Sirius Black had ever begged for anything. Finally breaking down, he pulled himself back into his brother’s arms. 

“You’ve always been my big brother.” Regulus insisted, giving Sirius a playful shove to his shoulder. The tattooed wizard smirked sadly at the man his brother had grown up to be. He truly had lost so much time. 

“How bout I make us a cuppa and we talk…really talk.” Sirius threw out, beginning to move towards the corridor in the direction of the kitchen.

“Oh Sirius…” The younger Black called before the man disappeared around the corner. Sirius’s large grey eyes looked at him with curiosity. “Happy Birthday…brother.”

Sirius couldn’t help the large smile that graced his face, nearly splitting it in half with its wideness. They certainly had a long way to go, and a lot of fucked up shit to sort through, but it was a start…it was a new beginning.


	24. Recovery and Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione is alive after her trip to the cave, but just barely. She's not quite coping well with being cooped up, but at least she has her friends...right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all! Thank you for all your kind words! Being home all the time has not been super great for my mental health so your support has meant the world to me. I think I've gotten a second wind inspiration wise, and I'm excited now that I've somewhat adjusted to working from home to have more time to write. As always, a big thank you to rotehexe for betaing. Lastly I hope that everyone stays healthy and safe during these super uncertain times. But as Dumbledore once said, "Happiness can be found even in the darkest times, if one only remembers to turn on the light."

Lily Potter was full of surprises, but volunteering to nurse Hermione back to health after her mysterious brush with death really took the cake. 

The official reason behind Hermione’s spontaneous need to be bedridden for three months was a failed reconnaissance mission. At first, it had only been a younger healer from St. Mungo’s who had attended to her, and Hermione was so dazed that she couldn’t even remember the man’s name. A weekly regimen of blood replenishing potion and healing one of Hermione’s ribs a week seemed to be all she could stomach for a while. It had been three weeks before she’d even been able to stand on her own. Dumbledore had been able to stand and talk after he’d taken the potion so Hermione hadn’t been quite ready for how differently the potion affected her.

Everytime she moved, it felt like all of her limbs had been weighed down by lead. It seemed to focus on her chest, and after a month, she finally asked the healer to fetch Dumbledore.

He had been cryptic and unhelpful as always for a majority of their discussion, but his best guess was that the potion was either affecting her more based on her size, or it was feeding off the dark magic residue from the scar on her chest. He did offer her some cleansing concoction; a potion he’d made for her and despite her suspicions and worry, it had worked.

James and Lily had been the first people to visit her (after she could move somewhat freely without needing a lie down), and when they’d come Lily had assigned herself as Hermione’s live-in nurse. She had to admit that the woman’s help had been invaluable in the first few days of her recovery, for the time she didn’t spend sleeping. But that had been a month ago…and it was no longer fully welcomed.

“I am fully capable of walking to the kitchen to make a cuppa!” Hermione insisted, harrumphing in an annoyed sign as the redhead glared at her. She loved Lily, but she was about ready to strangle the overprotective witch.

“If you so much as move one toe outside of this bed, I will tell James. You know I’ve only just got him to stop crying over your near miss. For a bloody Auror, he is the most sensitive man in the world.” It was interesting to watch Lily seem cross at James and yet have a smitten smile. They were so in love, and Hermione grumpily crawled back to her comfortable sitting position and allowed Lily to dote on her. 

For whatever reason, the red head seemed happy to entrap Hermione during her recovery…or urm… take care of her she supposed was the more accepted way to address the situation. Lily slipped out of the room and down the hall, her light humming fading slightly as she walked away from the bedroom.

Hermione had been on (forced) bedrest for nearly two months now, and she was desperate to move around. Regulus (via coin) and Remus (via in-person visits) kept her updated about their mission. Although Reg hadn’t been very responsive to attempts to contact him in those first few weeks, he finally got around to communicating during her second month. Lucius had the diary at the ready, but Hermione had advised that they hold off on acting on any of the Horcruxes until they had a solid plan to destroy them. It was already risky enough to have taken the locket without planting a fake. But if her plan went accordingly, Voldemort would be long dead before he ever even thought to check.

In a strange and completely unexpected turn of events, Sirius and Regulus had taken to brotherly bonding like birds to a feeder. Lily had complained to Hermione multiple times about how Sirius was ‘seemingly unreachable’ now that he was working on some sort ‘secret project’. She hoped one day Regulus wouldn’t have to hide anymore.

Although Lily was more right than she could know about Sirius being unreachable. Voldemort had apparently been calling for Regulus for several days following the Cave. Remus said that he’d never seen anything as painful as what Regulus endured when his mark burned and he ignored it; worse than any cruciatus he’d ever heard of. Between figuring out the fidelius charm on his flat and taking care of Regulus after his…well after all the torture, there really was no time for social occasions.

He had managed to visit her once, early on in her bed rest. Lily was gathering groceries from the market down the hill, so Hermione had a brief moment of solitude that had quickly been interrupted by her long-haired wizard.

The floo between his flat and Hermione’s home had been connected when she’d been brought back home for her recovery, and she knew that the only people who had access to it were Remus and Regulus (and by virtue of his new living arrangements, Sirius).

* * *

_ “Looking much more alive than last time I saw you kitten.” Sirius teased, his toothy grin soothing the ache Hermione had felt in her chest. She truly had missed him more than she would ever admit. _

_ “Yes well not being dead will do that to a person.” Hermione joked quietly, attempting to straighten herself from the position she’d been reading in on the couch. _

_ Sirius barked out a laugh and brushed some soot off of his leather jacket. Hermione could always tell how cold it was by the shirt Sirius wore under his favorite accessory. Today it was a cream colored Henley that looked to be rather thick, so it was a safe bet to guess that it was quite chilly. _

_ “What are you doing here? Is Regulus okay?” Hermione asked, sudden panic filling her as she jumped to the worst possible conclusion. There had been near radio silence from the younger Black brother ever since they returned from the cave, and her mind ran free with the possible worst case scenarios in its free time. Remus certainly hadn’t helped with his information supply. _

_ “Reg is…he’ll be fine. I’m here for you.” He sat next to her on the couch, his weight dipping down the cushions and pushing her slightly towards him. She missed the smell of him, the warmth that radiated from his skin…she missed him more than she could allow herself to. _

_ “Remus said…” _

_ “I know what Remus said. Chewed him out for hours for worrying you. Reg is fine. He knew what he was doing and he chose to do it. How are you doing?” He brushed a hair away from her face in a way that felt so intimate she felt a blush begin to creep onto her face. _

_ “I’m peachy. Doing just fine.” Hermione joked, feeling a smile breaking across her features. Sirius smiled back at her, that same boyish smirk she’d come to love in her time in the past. “You’re…Sirius does this mean you’re not angry with me anymore. I…the last time I saw you…” She trailed off, uncertain of what to say. Tampering with his memory had been necessary at the time, but that didn’t mean it hadn’t hurt him. _

_ “Oh I’m absolutely furious at you. Probably will be for some time, but Reg and I had a talk. Some blows may have been exchanged. By the way I heard you taught him that bat bogey hex of yours and I am quite displeased about it.” He bumped her with his shoulder then, his features sincere for once. There was something weighing on them both and she knew that whatever was broken between them wouldn’t be fixed until it was talked through. _

_ “I’m so sorry Sirius. I just…” Hermione began, but Sirius just pulled her small hand into his and shook his head. _

_ “I understand kitten. I do. Doesn’t mean that it doesn’t still sting. Reg…he made me realize that you are sacrificing so much and if…” His voice caught for a moment, and Hermione found herself placing her hand on his face, brushing his cheek with her thumb gently. His stormy grey eyes were piercing when they finally met hers. “I can wait. Once…” He made a sweeping gesture with his free hand. “All of this is over. The war. It will have been worth it.” _

_ Hermione didn’t quite know what she was feeling in the moment, but the most prominent feeling had to be relief. She had been so worried that he would maintain this distance; it had been slowly killing her. “Are you sure? I…I come with a lot of baggage Sirius. The things I saw in my time…the things I experienced.” _

_ Sirius caught Hermione’s hand as she went to pull it away. “You burn so bright Hermione. This whole fucking world is so terrible, but when I’m with you…You burn so bright I feel like I’m going fucking blind. If I had to wait 100 years for you it would be worth it.”  _

_ Their lips met, and for a moment Hermione wasn’t sure who’d made the first move. Behind this kiss was the longing of their time lost, all the apologies that had been left unsaid, all the regrets and hopes…everything they felt for each other was behind them. _

_ The sound of the front door opening finally broke them apart and Sirius looked frantically at Hermione as he jumped up from the couch. “I’ve got to go.” He blurted, hearing Lily’s voice chatting from the front room. _

_ “Sirius…” Hermione had called out after him, her heart beating so fast she felt it might burst. _

_ Sirius had already stepped into the fire, holding a fleeting handful of the green powder in his hand. One look from him and Hermione knew that he knew exactly what she was about to say. _

_ “I know.” His lips spoke intently, as his body disappeared into the flames. _

* * *

Hermione was forcibly pulled out of her thoughts by Lily’s humming growing once again in volume, alerting her to the witch’s approach.

“I still can’t believe how much he cried. I didn’t know I mean that much to him. I’ve only just met you all.” There was a slight giggle in her voice, but even she could hear how strained it was. She truly did love Lily and had come to see just how much of his mum Harry had inherited, but there was a necessary distance between them created by all the secrets Hermione had to keep.

“What’s going on in that big brain of yours? Did Sirius do something stupid again? I will hex him for you, you know that.” Lily’s comforting joke did do something to calm Hermione’s worries, and she was able to place a smile that no longer felt quite so forced.

“Not quite…well I mean he’s always doing something barmy, but no it's not him. Just restless I suppose.” It was true enough, and Lily seemed to buy it as she handed the brunette witch her cuppa.

The tea mug that Lily had chosen for Hermione was her favorite, although she doubted the witch knew that. There was nothing quite so special about it, but it was blue and felt somewhat like home. A chip decorated the top of the cup near the handle from where Ron had dropped it one day at breakfast. He’d spent so long putting the mug back together, but they never did find that one last piece. As they sat quickly sipping their tea, with Hermione quarantined to her bed and Lily sitting in an old and creaky wooden rocking chair, a comfortable silence fell over the pair.

“How’s Alice doing?” Hermione pondered aloud after their brief silence. She hadn’t properly seen Alice since the Friday dinner before last and she was missing the rambunctious and utterly exasperating witch. Sometimes she liked to wonder where Alice got all that energy from, but then again the feisty witch hardly seemed to be a giver of secrets.

“What…” Lily reacted instinctively, clearly having recovered her thoughts from whatever land they’d been dreaming in. “Oh…urm…good. Yeah she’s good. We actually well…” Lily seemed nervous, biting her lip uncertainly and then glancing down the hall as if someone might overhear what she was about to say. Her entire posture seemed to tense, and for a moment Hermione worried that the witch might shatter the mug in her hand from the tightness of her grip.

“Lily what is it? You’ve gone pale as a sheet. What’s wrong?” Hermione did her best to move forward, but she was still weak and her abdomen fought against the sudden motion. Fighting to hold in her sharp breath from the pain, she watched as Lily drew closer.

“Have you ever just mucked it all up so massively that you’re not quite certain how to fix it?” Lily’s voice was thick with misery as she talked with Hermione and it was the first time that she’d ever seen the ginger witch look scared.

“Lily whatever it is, we’ll figure it out. What have you mucked up? What needs fixing?” The ginger witch stood suddenly, moving too far from the bed for Hermione to comfort her, and despite the argument from her body, she pushed herself out of her confinement.

Lily placed her back gently on the doorway, as if the frame was the only thing preventing her from falling. “I…you can’t tell a soul…no one. Especially James.” Hermione nodded her head tightly, a few strands of her curly hair falling out from the loose bun at the nape of her neck. She grew closer to Lily, grabbing the witch’s arm and guiding her back to the chair she had been sitting in. When Lily was settled, Hermione sat on the edge of the bed, never letting go of her hand.

“I’m pregnant…well Alice and I. It's truly absurd but we took the potion together and they both shined gold.” Hermione vaguely remembered mention of a pregnancy detection potion from one of the books she’d read in the Black’s library. Suddenly the world around her fell to pieces. How could she have forgotten…Harry. The whole reason she had gone to the past in the first place…her best friend, and his mum and dad

“Here we are in the middle of bloody war and I have to be so irresponsible. I mean what was I thinking. I can tell it was Halloween. James had just been so cute in that cowboy costume and…well you don’t want to know.”

“Lily that’s…” Hermione’s breath ran out of her lungs like she’d been hit, and for once the tears that brimmed her eyes were those of joy. Nearly throwing herself at Lily, she catapulted off the bed and wrapped her arms tightly around the pregnant witch. “That’s incredible news! You are going to be the best mum.” All the sadness and self-pity Hermione had been feeling for herself suddenly drained from her and it was like the fire of her singular purpose reignited in her soul.

Lily melted into Hermione’s arms and allowed her to pet her hair. After all, it was the first true smile she’d gotten from the witch in weeks. When they finally parted, Lily laughed with her full body at what a mess they both looked. Summoning the tissue box from the bathroom, the two women dried their eyes and made some very attractive noises when they blew their noses.

After a minute or so, they looked distinctly less like banshees and Hermione moved back to where she’d been laying on the bed and patted the space next to her for Lily to join.

“Growing up I never really had any female friends.” Hermione admitted suddenly, as Lily got herself comfortable on the mattress. Her head rested turned into to the center so that they were looking right at each other.

“Me neither. Not until Alice really. Oh and Mary and Marlene of course. Although my absolute best friend is a…was a boy.” There was a distinct souring of Lily’s face when she reminisced and Hermione knew she must’ve been thinking about Snape. There was a chance for redemption for the man still and Hermione knew it was only a matter of time before he turned away from Voldemort…she just hoped that he could be one of the people she saved as well.

“Do you want to hear about my best friend? He was the bravest boy I’ve ever known. You remind me a lot of him.” Lily simply nodded her head lightly, adjusting herself so that she was resting with her head towards the ceiling. The spell Hermione had cast to make her bedroom look like the night sky fascinating her as the sun set outside the small window on the far wall.

“His name was Harry. Probably caused me more stress than anything else but he was so kind. Fierce when he needed to be, and often when he shouldn’t have been. People liked to say that he would never have survived without me but quite honestly, I wouldn’t have been able to survive without him. He was my first true friend; the first person to look at me for who I was and decide to take it all, the good and the bad. We had others along the way, but he was always my best friend.” Hermione didn’t realize she’d been rambling and her face grew hot. Clutching the soft fabric of the blanket under her, she turned to face the ceiling as well.

“What happened to him? He sounds like a good man.” The silence that enwrapped them in the four long painful moments before Hermione responded was so thick that Hermione nearly felt its weight on her chest.

“He was the best man, but he’s gone. Killed by a death eater. He died saving our friend. I like to think he would’ve been proud to have died as he lived, bravely.” Lily’s hand groped blindly for Hermione’s hand and when they connected, she squeezed lightly.

“I like that name…Harry.” The witches turned once again to look at each other, Lily’s green eyes too similar and yet not similar enough to Harry’s. “Harry Potter. Has a nice ring to it.”

“Yeah…yeah it does.” As the darkness of the night began to creep into the room, the two witches fell asleep next to each other, Lily clutching one hand to her stomach. Hermione had to protect him…had to protect them all.


	25. The Reality of the Future

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione has her happiness at the reveal of Lily's pregnancy cut short with a mysterious visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. I'm sorry that this update is a few days late, but if anyone follows my Fireside Drafts, you may know that I lost someone in my family this week. He didn't die from the virus, but we couldn't even see him to say goodbye so I was in a rough headspace for a few days. I've had some time to cope and start the healing process, which actually helped me to finish this. I hope you enjoy it! Thanks as always to Rotehexe for keeping me sane.

Harry Potter existed in this world now. Not that he hadn’t before, but now he was…real. He was here. There was something about the reality of his heartbeat that made her Hermione often found herself staring at Lily, either directly or out of the corner of her eye. It was true, what people said about pregnant women. Lily seemed to almost be glowing. There was a brightness to her laugh, a spring in her step.

Of course, it helped that James had quite literally dropped to his knees and sobbed against Lily’s stomach when he’d been told (which had been quite embarrassing for Hermione to witness). It had been Hermione’s first venture outside her house in three months and she’d been overjoyed when the red head had asked her to come over.

It was approaching Lily’s birthday, and Hermione had been invited over to Potter Cottage under the guise of birthday party planning. James, who was now sporting a rather mis-advised patchy beard, hugged her so tightly that she thought she might pop and spun her around a few times.

“She’s only just recovered from being broken James!” Lily sternly scolded. He stopped in his tracks and looked at her a bit like deer in the headlights (pun intended). Slowly placing Hermione back on her feet, he waddled apologetically up to his wife.

“I resent being called broken!” Hermione sighed, crossing her arms and assuming her lecture stance that she had always used with Ron and Harry when they were up to no good in school. “You get a few broken ribs and nearly die and suddenly you’re damaged goods.”

“Please do forgive me. I just haven’t seen ‘Mione in ages and I missed her so terribly.” James pouted slightly and turned his hazel puppy dog eyes on the unimpressed witches.

“James you saw me yesterday. And if you call me ‘Mione again, I’ll make sure you never see me.” Hermione bit out, trying to hide her laughter, her frown cracking as the man continued to pout at her. James was exactly like his son; she couldn’t stay mad at him if she tried. Lily on the other hand began to pick at the skin around her nails, and Hermione could tell her nerves were starting to set in.

She grabbed Lily’s hand, squeezing it once as a show of support. “Tell him.” Hermione mouthed, and she could see the confused look spreading across James’s face.

“Tell me what?” Even though he was confused, his goofy smile still stayed firmly in place. The longer Lily stayed quiet, the more James’s smile began to fade. “Is something wrong?” Concern replaced confusing in the way only someone touched by the loss of war could truly understand.

“No. No!” Lily assured, rubbing her palms against her face. “Its not…I mean something is wrong but its also right…ugh I’m mucking this up, aren’t I?” Her panicked green eyes locked onto Hermione’s, and she had to step in. 

“Deep breath. You can do this.” Hermione smiled reassuringly at James, who was now in full blown freak out mode. She could tell that he was about thirty seconds from having a meltdown.

“You’re right. James…urm Jamie…we’re…that’s to say I’m pregnant.” Lily stared at him for a moment then an additional moment as he stood in place, as if frozen in a singular moment of overwhelming emotion.

“You’re….really??” James picked her up, kissing her soundly. When they broke away and he put her down, he had the brightest smile Hermione had ever seen and he dropped to his knees. Planting kisses on her stomach, Hermione excused herself quietly, feeling like an intruder in such an intimate scene. James and Lily would’ve been such good parents to Harry, and that ball of rage that seemed to permanently reside in the pit of her stomach burned white hot as she thought of all the lost time. All the birthdays they were never able to celebrate, all the anniversaries, the first broom flight, graduating Hogwarts, becoming an Auror. The proudest moments of his life and they missed all of them.

The anger that seemed her constant companion hit her again, and she swallowed it down like she always did. Welts in her hands had become a permanent feature as she dug her fingernails into her palm. They deserved so much, but they did not deserve what had happened to them.

She slipped out through the back door, traipsing through James’s garden as she went to the picket fence that led back to her home. The short walk back was brisk and uneventful, Hermione briefly waved at Bathilda Bagshot who was out watering her mums. It had taken some time for her to get the image of Nagini coming out of the woman’s throat from the front of her mind to the dark recesses in the back, but when she had, she discovered that Bathilda was a lovely woman; if a bit strange.

Hermione was visited periodically over the next few days before she got cleared to go out and about by the ecstatic couple. They truly had a glow about them. Lily made her actually help with planning the birthday party, insisting that if James had his way everything would be sparkly and red and gold.

Remus and Sirius had been so overjoyed to learn the news. Even Peter had looked properly thrilled, although Hermione did have to pop round her house again to shatter some vases before she could pretend not to want to kill that traitorous bastard.

Lily’s birthday party had gone off without a hitch, as both Alice and Lily announced they were pregnant then. Of course, a heavily pregnant Molly Weasley was sobbing with happiness that she blamed on her pregnancy hormones. Ron would be born in just under two months.

Mad-Eye Moody had come, apparently owing to a previously unknown affection for Lily. Hermione had been surprised when the auror popped up, as he was almost never at these things, but Remus quickly informed her that Lily was the only witch who could keep James and Sirius in line and Moody loved her for it (though he’d never admit it).

Hermione briefly spoke with Alice who seemed to glow a little less than Lily owing to the fact that she was already in the beginning stages of morning sickness (which she very vividly informed Hermione was not tied to the morning at all). Frank was equally thrilled, but also confided in her that his mother was an absolute terror when she found it. Based on the stories that Neville had always told growing up, Hermione was sure that absolutely was the case.

Everyone took their turns moving around the room, and there was an emotional moment between the expectant mothers when they asked each other to be godmothers at near the same time. Sirius and James had a similarly emotional conversation. Hermione had made sure to leave out that Sirius was Harry’s godfather in her story…there were some happy memories she wanted to be entirely his own.

“You knew didn’t you.” The animagus found her in the kitchen, doing dishes the muggle way when the party had begun to wind down. She had insisted that Lily sit down and relax, so clean up became her job.

“Of course I did. Congratulations by the way.” She smiled at him, the one corner of her lip upturned as mischief came to her mind. Hermione held out her bubble-covered hand towards him and laughed when he just blinked at her. Taking the opportunity, she swiped her hand up, placing a small spattering of bubbles on his cheek.

“Did you just?” Sirius began, his uncertainty broken by Hermione’s cascading laughter. “Oh you’ll regret that witch.” He promised, dipping his hand into the bubbles and returning the favor. She splashed him with some of the dishwater and soon enough they were engaged in a water fight with their wands.

“What exactly is going on here?” Remus’s voice was clearly identified before either of them saw him. It was a little difficult to explain away their current situation given that they were soaking wet and covered in bubbles.

“Cleaning?” Sirius offered, which only earned a raised eyebrow from the werewolf. He gave Hermione one of the signature I’m not mad just disappointed look that had plagued students when he had served as the defense against the dark arts teacher.

Searching through the mass of bubbles for her wand, Hermione cast a quick cleaning charm. She preferred to do dishes by hand, not trusting the spells to properly get in all the crannies. Sirius, who had shaken his hair out like his animagus form would’ve, made her laugh again and then followed her when she went to sit in the garden.

“They’re gonna be great parents. I didn’t…I didn’t really get it before. I knew you had this whole mission thing and I’m glad you saved Reggie, but Lily and James…They deserve to have a life with their kid.” Sirius looked more weighted down now than she’d ever seen him in the past. Suddenly she noticed the dark looking circles under his eyes, the obvious strain of sleepless nights on his face.

“I’m going to make sure they have just that chance.” Hermione sighed, blocking out the chill. She shivered once as a cold breeze blew past, and Sirius shrugged off his leather jacket, draping the overly large fabric on her shoulders. “He looks just like James you know. Except for his eyes. Those he gets from Lily. It was so hard to look at them both when I first got here.”

Sirius moved closer, shifting so she could lay her head against his shoulder. Hermione six months ago would’ve been chastising herself for being so close, for allowing herself a quiet moment, but Hermione now had come too close to failure…to close to death, to let a single quiet moment pass unenjoyed.

“I can’t wait to buy him his first broom.” Sirius’s voice was soft then, and Hermione could see a shift in his eyes when she glanced up to look at him. His hair was pulled back into a loose bun around the base of his neck, so there was no mistaking the longing look he was trying to hide.

“Do you ever think about it?” Hermione wondered aloud, not needing to clarify.

“I never used to.” Sirius answered, before clearing his throat and standing. “Guess I never imagined having a family. Mine sort of fucked me up.” Pacing the stones that formed a path through the garden, Hermione watched him carefully.

“It’s a bit wild. I used to watch James write Lily love poems in the common room. Which she of course rejected on sight. Now they’re married and they have a little sprog on the way. It’s strange to imagine a little baby made up of the best parts of both of them.” He put his hands in his pocket, the light catching on the ink from his tattoos as they poked through where he’d pushed his jumper up to his elbows.

“For me its quite the opposite. Growing up around Harry always gave me this idea of what his parents might be like but…they’re even better than I could’ve dreamed. I always assumed Harry got his defiant spirit from James but Lily is quite the ball of fire herself. Although his penchant for life-threatening situations most definitely comes from James.” Hermione laughed to herself at that, fondly remembering when she, Harry, and Ron had gotten the Philosopher’s Stone.

“Family can be something you choose Sirius. For what its worth, I think you’d make an excellent father.” There was a silence then, and neither of them were willing to break it. The fragility of the moment, the rawness of it was something she was unwilling to let go. Sirius was so rarely open like this.

“I should get back to Reg.” When he began to walk away, Hermione realized she still had his jacket wrapped around her. Standing as well, she went to take it off, but he shook his head. “It looks better on you.”

Hermione’s return to her normal life felt more jarring than she had expected. As miserable as she’d been in her isolation, it was somehow worse to go back to a plan that she was stuck with. For weeks she sat at home, desperately trying to solve the mystery of how she was meant to destroy these horcruxes. The more she tried to figure it out, the more frustrated she grew. And the more frustrated she grew, the more she threw herself into her research.

Dumbledore was probably her best chance, but she was hesitant to let the man know about the horcruxes. Had he been more forthcoming and less mysterious with his plans, then maybe all of her friends would have lived through the war. Albus Dumbledore was an excellent player of Wizard’s Chess, but Hermione was unwilling to be his pawn any longer. This time she was the Queen, and she would move the pieces.

Her bishop, her knight, and her rook all falling into place, closing in on the king. But the king was still being protected by a knight, one that Hermione knew would turn against him eventually. 

Her rook, her secret weapon, was Lucius Malfoy. Rich and privileged in the wizarding world, he was taking over all the responsibilities of the pureblood plant that Regulus had been. Despite his questionable loyalties, Lucius seemed like he would do anything for his son. Narcissa was showing somewhat now, the bump more rounded due to her slender figure. As long as Hermione could remind Lucius of what his son does to protect his family, she trusted that she could keep him on her side.

Her bishop, her guide, was Remus Lupin. He was the voice of reason when her mind was filled with uncertainty. Ever since she had begun brewing him wolfsbane, she had seen an incredible shift in his demeanor around the moon. He was almost always depressed around the dates of the full moon, weighed down by his own insecurity that he was a monster. Keeping his head during that time had showed him that he was more than the wolf. In every moment of doubt, of breakdown, of defeat, Remus was there to pick her back up, to remind her of the fire she carried in her soul.

Her knight, her fiercest protector, was Regulus Black. When he never returned to Grimmauld Place, Walburga held a public funeral for her son. She’d played the part of a grieving mother well, sobbing in her somber black dress robes as the pureblood elite kissed her cheeks. Reg had insisted on going, disguised with some Polyjuice that made him look like a muggle boy Hermione had run into a while back. She’d joined him, similarly, disguised and additionally hidden by her cloak. Lucius played his part perfectly, sneering and frowning when it was socially acceptable.

Lucius was a pawn in Voldemort’s game but she offered him a chance to be more. She offered him a hand in destroying the man who would one day destroy his family. Hermione offered everything that Voldemort never would. The best chess masters spend their games six, eight, ten, twelve moves ahead. The bastard was in threat right now, but soon, it would be checkmate.

It was in this thorough fantasy game of chess that her mind was trapped when she was on her way home from the market. Clouds sparsely decorated the sky as the brisk early February air cut against her cheeks.

The first thing that should have alerted Hermione to the fact something was wrong was the fact that the lamp in her sitting room was on. It hadn’t been on when she’d left…had it?

The next thing was that her cloak had been hung on the coat rack. She could’ve sworn that she’d left it draped over one of her kitchen chairs, choosing a heavier winter cloak for that day.

The last thing that Hermione should’ve noticed was that her wards were no longer wrapping around her like the safety blanket they had been since she had set them up.

Finally, the thing that finally alerted her to the fact that she was not alone was a scent of bicorn horn. The kind used in potion making had a very specific smell, and it was that which finally broke through Hermione’s distracted and clouded mind and set her on edge. Dropping her groceries on the table, she drew her wand and wandered back towards the front of the house. Her sitting room was empty, although the unsettling feeling of being watched began to chill her deep into her bones. Assuming a defensive stance that would’ve made Remus Lupin proud, she wandered through the hallway, opening each door as quietly as she could manage. 

Heartbeats blocked out her hearing, coursing through her skull like a river rapid. All Hermione could hear was the beating of her heart and the heft of her breath. Who could’ve cut through her wards?

Albus Dumbledore had done it once before but he wouldn’t need to now…she had adjusted the allowance to give him access if he ever wanted it. It couldn’t be any of her friends. They were all powerful witches and wizards but none of them had the skill in warding she did.

She was approaching the last room in the house, her bedroom, and Hermione felt her steps slow as she approached. It was like flipping a switch, turning back into war mode. It had been such a large part of her life for over a year, and this part of her would do what it had to to protect herself and her mission.

With a deep breath and a fire in her eyes, Hermione pushed open her door. The first thing she noticed was that the figure who had broken through her wards, who had broken into her home, was staring out the window. A scowl decorated his face and in an instant, she knew exactly what had happened.


	26. An Alliance Forged in Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione’s surprise visitor offers her the one thing she needs, his help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks! it’s been a crazy week, and I didn’t get much writing done on Sunday due to Easter, but here we are! So many of you were able to correctly guess who our mystery visitor was and I’m so excited for you all to properly meet him! As always much love goes out to rotehexe for all she does, and a special thanks to all of you who reviewed or left kudos because it truly means the world to me in these uncertain times.

“So you’ve heard it then.” Hermione began, keeping her wand raised but moving slowly into the room. She flipped the switch on the wall and illuminated him more fully. Outside the light of the window, it was easy to see his features.

Black eyes that seemed to be well-hidden behind a stony mask of contempt stared at her intently as she moved. His greasy hair was not quite as long as it had been when last she’d seen him, and the wrinkles were missing from his face. But then they were likely caused by the stress of spending 18 years living a double life.

It was strange, seeing the mixture of distress and desperation flicker behind the cold exterior of his face. “How?” That was all he said, the timbre of his voice steady as he faced her. She’d never seen the memories, the ones he had given Harry as he had died, but she knew that he’d done it all for her. It hadn’t been something she’d understood, but now she was living her life for Harry’s sake and she knew…knew better than anyone else in the world what Severus Snape was about to do.

“When I approached you all those months ago, I told you there was a time coming when you’d have to make a choice. What have you chosen?” Hermione slowly lowered her hand, not stupid enough to sheath her wand but knowing that the first step to any alliance was a sense of trust, however shallow. He stiffened slightly before moving towards her. His body was stiff and there was a light sheen of sweat on her face.

“Her. I will always choose her.” Severus was serious, grave even as he spoke. He loved Lily, or thought he did at the very least. It was amazing what people would do for the ones they love.

“Even if it means betraying your precious Dark Lord? Does he know you’re here?” Hermione’s eyes flicked unconsciously over to his left arm, hanging down by his side. Even in the pale light emitted by the dying sconce on the wall, he noticed her gaze.

“No. You know things…knew things about me, about my past. Its why I let you live that day and now I…” He stopped for a moment where he took in a deep breath, smoothing back his hair with his hand. “He thinks its about her. Her child.”

Hermione knew this; she’d spent years listening to Harry pick apart the prophecy. Born as the seventh month dies. It was well known in the Pureblood gossip circles by now that Lily and James Potter were expecting a child (mostly because of prejudiced old cows like Walburga Black who bemoaned the ruin of a Pureblood line with a half-blooded child).

“So what? You don’t trust Voldemort to protect a muggleborn witch?” He flinched when she said his name…they always did. But she refused to fear him, refused to bow down to the very name of a man she’d watched crumple and die. That was all he was, a man.

Snape sneered at her with disapproval in the way that he always had at school when she’d been too quick with an answer or overly eager in her brewing. One look from him like that would’ve turned her into a shrinking violet years ago, but he couldn’t take house points from her now. This was her game of chess, and all he was was a pawn. It was time to figure out who’s pawn he would be.

“He won’t protect her. All he cares about is himself. This whole war, what does it do but stroke the fragile ego of a malevolent orphan who has it in his mind that he is the greatest wizard in the world.” Hermione caught her rant before she continued, worried that too much vitriol might turn Snape away. But she had the trump card, she had the future.

“What do you want from me?” Snape’s voice was low, not nearly as languid and parsed as she was used to. If she hadn’t spent years observing the man, she might never have noticed the change in his posture, the way his hands moved nervously…the pitch of his voice.

“I want your help. If you help me to take down Voldemort, I can promise you that Lily will survive. If you take a vow, I can tell you everything.” She made sure not to mention James, or Harry, out of fear that he’d be reminded of his petty school grievances and leave with more knowledge than she could allow to fall into Voldemort’s hands.

It was a risky venture, to even have gotten this far without demanding a vow from the man. She hadn’t mentioned the future, or her true origins, but there was far less that could put her life in immediate danger. Snape seemed to be warring within himself for what to do. He’d never liked Hermione, even when she had begun to listen in on order meetings her fifth and sixth year.

“Look if you think that he’ll save her, that he’ll spare her life in the moment where his choice is his life or hers, then go ahead. Leave. Go back to the man who marked and marred you for empty promises of a grander life.” Hermione turned her back on him, knowing that this was a gamble. She knew that Voldemort had tried to spare Lily, had asked her to step aside, but there was one certainty she had in her life and it was that Lily Potter would never allow someone to lay a hand on her child.

“Wait. I’ll do it.” Snape’s hand caught on her shoulder, and she allowed herself a brief smile of victory before turning and very sternly facing the man. Tilting her head towards the kitchen, she sat in the same wobbly wooden chair that she had when Dumbledore had arrived all those months ago.

“This is a vow of my own design. You won’t die if you break it, but your magic will be severely weakened for the rest of your life. Are you sure that you want to do this Severus?” It felt wrong, bitter as his name left her lips. She wondered if there would be a day when they would no longer be allies but rather friends. Maybe if she removed the decades of bitterness that he had lived on, he would be a good friend to her.

“I will do anything for her.” Snape’s voice was crisp, his intonation forward and his enunciation clear. His black eyes resembled a starless night, and Hermione was certain that he was committed to his love for Lily if nothing else.

“Repeat after me.” The vow this time took on a silvery sheen, which she found infinitely fascinating and made a note to study further when the war was done and Harry was safe. Luckily, she had already explained the story of her past to enough people that she gave Snape the spark notes version. Skipping some important details (as she didn’t trust him with the horcrux information quite yet), Snape sat with a slight frown as he listened to her story.

“2004. I suppose in this reality you came from I’m no longer alive.” Hermione had purposely left out everyone’s end to their story. Regulus had been the only person she’d told about his eventual death. Snape had died for his dual loyalties, and even as much as she disliked the man, she was infinitely grateful to all the small ways he helped them during those last months of the war.

Her silence told more than any words could have as she opened and shut her mouth, hoping that eventually the right words would come out. There was no more complex story than Severus Snape’s. 

“Well then, I suppose there is nothing to lose.” He stood abruptly, pulling at the collar of his high-necked dark grey robes. “How will I contact you?” This interaction grew more and more stunted and stiff as they looked at each other, and Hermione knew that this would not be an easy process. Shuffling back to her room, that she made a silent note to thoroughly wash so the violating feeling of someone being in there without her consent was gone, she grabbed one of the protean coins she had sitting in her night table. Activating it with a flick of her wand, she returned to the kitchen.

“This coin will burn when I have a message for you. Its tied to mine as well as a few others. If you should ever need me, it works similarly for you.” Hermione sent an example message to him, focusing intently on her test.

“Lazarus?” Snape mocked as the text came through on his coin.  _ Hello Lazarus _ .

“Do you not know the story? I assumed because your father was a muggle…” In an instant, Snape’s entire body changed, as he became guarded and moved his right foot forward, a stance she’d seen him use many times during Duelling Club. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend to upset you.”

Her information and research on Snape had seemed to begin and end with his childhood friendship with Lily. Hermione hadn’t been able to find any record of what Snape’s home life had been like and she certainly wasn’t about to ask Lily to divulge her ex-best friend’s darkest secrets. Based on his reaction alone though, all was not well in the Snape household growing up.

“That’s the funny thing about intention, it rarely matters.” He looked for a moment like he might storm out, swish his long flowing cloak behind him and vanish into the growing night as he likely would’ve done when she’d known him. However he just took a very heavy, annoyed breath and sighed before absently stirring the small remains of the tea he’d brewed hours before.

“Assume I am very unfamiliar with muggle stories.” There was a bitterness in his voice that Hermione felt it unnecessary to acknowledge. At this point she was pushing her luck with getting his help, and she needed his help.

“Lazarus was a man who, according to Christian beliefs, was brought back from the dead and given a second chance at life. You may not trust me, and I certainly don’t trust you but we have one very important thing in common, we both love Lily. I need you just as much as you need me and if we don’t work together there’s a very high possibility that we all die, you, me, Lily…everyone.” Hermione took a calming breath, forcing her hands to stop trembling. As her fingernails dug into her palms she continued. “The others have nicknames as well, that way we can’t be given away if someone is discovered.”

“The others?” His voice tilted slightly and Hermione blushed slightly at the dark way he was looking at her. Severus Snape did not play well with ‘others’.

“Oh urm…yeah. I suppose I’ll introduce you to them at the next…well I hate to call them meetings because that makes it seem more like a club than a coalition of people devoted to killing Voldemort.” Rambling was one of her more obvious nervous traits, but she was cut off by a sharp laugh from her old professor…well now young professor. Merlin this time thing was hard to wrap one’s mind around.

“Can I be assured that any and all association with you and your…club will be confidential. I have already risked my life even coming here.” Severus stood, clearly displaying that he was ready to leave and Hermione followed him about, placing their tea cups in the sink and moving into the entrance hall.

“Yes. Everyone has taken a vow. I must warn you though, you may not…approve of all the members I have recruited for this mission and some, well some may just blatantly shock you.” She tried to imagine who Snape would have the funniest reaction to, and her mind was tied between one of the most notoriously pureblooded death eaters, a man who if supposedly dead, and one of his nemeses from Hogwarts. Hermione bit her lip, fighting against the laugh that was bubbling in her throat. She was mostly able to contain it, but that didn’t stop Snape from raising an eyebrow.

He was quiet as he opened the door, pulling the hood of his travelling cloak up around his face. The night had grown dark while they were talking, and even though there were streetlamps, his face was still obscured by the blanket of cloudy blackness that covered the sky.

Hermione closed the door behind him, carefully reactivating her wards. Had Snape been a less skilled wizard, she might’ve felt the need to triple her defenses, but instead she settled for a blood ward. It wasn’t quite light magic, but it would keep her safe. Voldemort knew the prophecy which meant that Lily and James were officially in danger.

For the first time since she’d gotten back from the cave, Hermione drew open her beaded bag and pulled out the small locket inside. The outside was a delicate gold, engraved with her initials and some runes for protection and love. She’d always felt mystified by the overwhelming magic of runic protection and had cried when Harry had presented it to her the Christmas after she’d completed her eighth year.

It had been too risky to wear it in the past, but it would’ve broken her heart to leave it behind. When she pressed the clasp on the side of the locket, it popped open, revealing a picture of Harry, Ron, and Hermione at her graduation. Her long black robes billowed around her as her two best friends smiled at the camera. There was a gentle breeze blowing from behind them and Ron was holding onto her hat to keep it from blowing away. Everyone was smiling, and it made her heart hurt.

Ron would be born in only four days, even when Harry and Ron were born, even when they grew up and went to Hogwarts, nothing would ever be the same. 

* * *

Hermione knew from the moment that Severus Snape arrived at her home on the dreary looking Saturday in late February that this meeting was going to be very stressful. Once he and Lucius were done accusing each other of being a spy for the Dark Lord (which resulted in drawn wands…twice), Hermione had set out some tea for the lot of them and waited on Remus and Regulus.

It had become a tradition since Sirius learned about her mission that Remus, Regulus, and Sirius would all come together. Somehow the meager spread of cheese and crackers made it seem more like a sad party no one had showed up for rather than a strategic planning session to destroy the greatest threat to the wizarding world that existed currently.

She’d closed off her floo so they’d have to ask permission to be let in, a tactic she’d used in order to allow her to intercept the brothers and Remus before they walked into a room exclusively occupied by their former enemies and current (albeit so they could spy for her) death eaters.

“You have to promise not to be cross and to give me your wands.” Hermione insisted, crossing her arms as she always did when she meant business. Regulus had agreed immediately, which she’d expected. Remus followed suit a moment later with only a curious lift of his eyebrow as if he was telling her that he didn’t like it but he trusted her. Sirius, naturally, was being a prick.

“I’m not giving you my wand if that platinum headed git has his. Malfoy is a right bastard and I know you say we can trust him but I don’t trust him so far as I could throw him…” His tantrum ran on for about a minute longer before Hermione finally went in the other room. It was at this point that Hermione had discovered Lucius and Severus on the brink of duelling.

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she took a deep breath and reminded herself that one day when Harry was safe and happy, it would be worth all the trouble it took to get there. Pulling out her own wand from the hidden pocket sewn into the sleeve of her long, fuzzy striped jumper, she disarmed both the men while they were distracted with their own egos. Wands in hand, she returned to the floo and Sirius finally agreed to hand over his as well. Still grumbling, of course, because he is a big baby man child when he doesn’t get his way.

Hermione opened the floo and watched nervously as the men arrived through the fireplace. Regulus came through first, his black, curly hair covered in a light powder from the ash. Remus was next, who simply shook out his hair and ran his fingers through his mustache to make himself presentable again. Lastly, arrived Sirius Black, wearing a long-sleeved t-shirt of some band she’d never heard of and his signature leather jacket.

It took approximately four seconds for Sirius and Remus to see Severus, and an additional two seconds before any of the men interacted. Seeing each other int his context seemed to have reset their brains and they were in the process of booting back up.

“What the bloody fuck is he doing here?” Sirius broke the silence first, turning with an angry sneer at Hermione.

“I told you all we had a new ally…” She began, cut off nearly immediately by Remus’s voice.

“You told us there was someone but you didn’t say it was him.” Remus was less angry with Hermione than he was distressed. She knew that he always blamed himself for what had happened at Hogwarts; how Sirius had almost killed Snape and James had only just managed to stop him.

“I assure you Black, had I known you were involved I would have saved myself the annoyance. But what sort of operation are you running here? You have a werewolf…” Hermione couldn’t help but see realization and fear take over Lucius’ face as he took a step away from Remus. “A man whose funeral I attended several weeks ago, one of the Dark Lord’s most ardent supporters and…well I suppose Black is the class pet?” Sirius snapped forward, looking as if he might punch Severus. Luckily Remus managed to grab the back of Sirius’s shirt and keep him from doing any harm.

“Every person here has a unique set of skills and circumstances that will help us defeat Voldemort.” Hermione, holding up each of their wands in turn, tucked them all dramatically in her pocket, showing for emphasis the fact that they were all unarmed. “Now if you all are done being children and allowing petty grievances to interfere with our work, its time to discuss today’s topic.”

“And what, pray tell, is that Granger?” Lucius asked, having already seated himself in her arm chair like he was some grand king.

“Why how to kill Lord Voldemort of course.” There was a sickly-sweet smile on her face that slowly cracked and slipped until eventually she was nothing but a searing ball of rage. Learning to harness that energy had gotten her through many a plotting session at the Department of Mysteries.

“Oh so something simple then.” Regulus joked, leaning against the doorframe between the kitchen and the sitting room. He had a cheese block and a cracker in his hand, and he smiled at Hermione as he popped the piece in his mouth.

Looking around at her merry band of misfits, Hermione felt more certain than ever that she could do this…that they could do this.


	27. Adventures in Babysitting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione releases stress the only way she can think of, watching six children under the age of 10.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks. I'm going to be quite honest with you, I am going to return to publishing when I finish the chapter rather than on a timeline because it was starting to make me feel anxious to have a deadline. I still have so much to do with this story, and I'm excited to share it with you, but it will need to be at my own pace. With all the craziness of the world, this is not something I want to make stressful because it is the thing I normally do to destress. I'm sorry for disappointing you all by missing two updates, but I am back and will be updating sporadically here on out. Thank you to Rotehexe who is an absolute rockstar, and thank you to all of you for supporting my story. You all mean so, so much to me and when I feel defeated you all remind me that there are people supporting me.

Hermione Granger was making progress in her mission. Snape was as unpleasant as she remembered him to be, always brooding and glancing around as if he wasn’t entirely sure they were alone. He’d refused to come to the general meetings under the guise of hiding his newfound loyalty, but Hermione knew it was so he didn’t have to interact with Sirius. (Who also seemed to know that he was the cause and was rather annoyingly proud of himself about it).

They met on and off in her sitting room, having awkward cups of tea while he updated her about their mission. She’d sent him to Dumbledore, so that he could begin his spy path for the Order in an official capacity.

It was in this fog of distraction that she met Ronald Bilius Weasley for the new first time. The Burrow had been a familiar locale for her in the past few weeks since her recovery. Charlie had quickly become one of Hermione’s favorite distractions from the weight of all the world that seemed to be resting on her shoulders. Then when the newest Weasley came along, it was like she had to tear herself away from their house

Sometimes at night, when she was ready to shrug off that weight that like Atlus she carried, she would pop round the Burrow and just give Molly and Arthur a brief reprieve. Hermione was surprised how quickly the Weasleys had agreed to let a relative stranger watch their children, but then she imagined that after having a sixth boy under the age of 10, they would have welcomed Lord Voldemort himself offering to watch their brood.

Charlie was not yet adjusted to having another new baby in the house, which she considered to be very odd considering this was the fourth after him. Hermione smiled to herself as if she was playing a hand of poker and had pocket queens, knowing that he had a little sister to look forward to as well. Molly had at least another seven months before she had to worry about that though.

It may have seemed unimportant or selfish of her to steal even a few moments in the night to visit with her old best friend in his new form, but all of the stress in her body liquified into joy when she looked at Ron.

He wasn’t a fussy child, quite surprising considering her knowledge of his demanding nature as a preteen. Of course, the one constant with him was that his stomach never seemed to be full. Molly fed him nearly every hour on the hour but he was insatiable. They were paid back for his overeating by oversleeping though, so Hermione imagined that she wouldn’t hear any complaints from the Weasleys anytime soon.

In the brief moments where she got to see him between napping and eating (his two main activities), she nearly gasped to see his eyes. They were just the same as she remembered, but she hadn’t seen them in nearly a year by that point. The month of March seemed to come and go in front of her as she alternated her time between endless research into methods to destroy horcruxes and drowning her sorrows in watching six radically different yet somehow related children. Ron went to sleep around 8, but the twins had an extra hour before their bedtime, and it was quite difficult to keep those budding troublemakers occupied. It helped that she had begun to form alliances.

Bill was a quiet kid, whose main interactions with Hermione consisted of helping to curtail the twins (who by some sort of cruel trick had begun to run before they even properly walked). He had been somewhat standoffish with her at first, giving off the adolescent energy of not believing he needed watching after. 

What truly won him over was when Hermione arrived one night with an old curse-breaking tome she’d nicked from Grimmauld Place awhile back. Regulus had shown no need for it, and stealing from Walburga made her feel like she was sticking it to generations of blood purity. The book hadn’t been particularly dark other than showing how to undo some pretty hefty enchantments. Had Bill not been a brilliant young wizard she knew would go on to be both Head Boy and collect twelve O.W.L.s, she might have hesitated with her <strike>bribery</strike> gift.

Once he had his small hands wrapped around the large red leather tome, she knew she’d won his allegiance. Suddenly he would pop up everywhere around her, helping with Charlie when he had his tantrums or when one of the twins tried to sneak a treat. It made her long for the days when they had become good friends.

Charlie…how does one even describe a young Charlie Weasley. The red-head had the deepest shade of red hair, which laid in wavy curls around his ears. Unlike Percy who, even as a three-and-a-half-year-old, insisted on having a closely cropped haircut. It made her giggle, seeing the man Percy would become in the boy he was.

“Percy, wouldn’t you like to play with Charlie?” Hermione had prodded him one night, as he sat near the Burrow’s fireplace and attempted to read one of Charlie’s books on dragons. He was already too advanced for the dingy old copy of Beedle the Bard that the Weasleys kept on their shelf. Neither Bill nor Charlie had been big readers as children, so Percy’s choice of entertainment was very limited. 

He’d looked up at her, his splattering of freckles the same as they’d been when he’d grown but without the horn-rimmed spectacles she always knew him to wear. Red-hair, of a middling shade compared to his brothers, glistened in the light of the fire. “Not particularly.” His little voice stumbled slightly over the large word that she was nearly certain he’d read somewhere and she frowned. The Percy she’d known spent years wishing that he hadn’t pushed away his family, hadn’t chosen to prioritize career over love.

When Fred had died, it had destroyed Percy and now as she held Fred in her arms while he screamed for more licorice wands, she couldn’t stop herself from pushing him a little too far. Hermione sighed and rolled her eyes before crossing the small room to place Fred in the playpen with George, who was banging around a wooden spoon. Ignoring Fred’s whining when he was put down (no licorice wand in sight), Hermione walked over to where Percy sat and kneeled on the floor next to him, grabbing the book out of his hands.

“Hey!” Percy harrumphed, crossing his arms and pouting at Hermione. She gave him an unapologetic shrug of her shoulders before placing a hand on his head and petting his hair with her thumb.

“I know that you love to read. I know that Charlie and Bill may be a bit more…rough around the edges than you, but there will be a time when you look back and wish you’d chosen them over a book. Trust me. I…I lost a lot of people that I loved, and I would give anything to have spent more time with them.” Percy seemed to regard her with annoyance at first, but reluctantly swung his small legs off the chair where he’d been sitting and stood next to Hermione.

“Fine I’ll go play. But then can I have my book back?” It was not quite what she was hoping for, but it was progress so she nodded her head.

“How about if every time I come over you spend a little bit playing with your brothers and I’ll make sure to bring a brand new book to read with you?” It was a little unfair of her, to manipulate Percy using their shared favorite hobby, but making lives better didn’t exclusively have to mean saving the people she lost. Maybe she could also save the people who lost themselves along the way.

The eager four-year-old’s eyes grew as wide as dinner plates at the promise of new books to read and he readily agreed, brandishing his toothy grin that was missing one or two. Hermione realized with a start that this was the first time she’d ever seen Percy just…happy.

She ruffled his hair, which returned his pout as he hastened to return it to its pristine part. Trudging reluctantly towards the other room when his brother was playing with his dragon toy, Hermione returned to the twins.

Looking far more innocent than was within the realm of reasonable suspicion, Hermione stared at the twins who were now standing upright in the makeshift playpen she’d conjured to keep the twins from any and all possibilities of mischief.

“What have you done?” She asked, crossing her arms and moving her suspicious glare back and forth between the identical twins. Fred had a small scar on the right side of his chin that separated him from his brother, although they still tried to trick her. Just recently two years old and they were already little devils.

“Nothin…” George began, looking up at her and smiling. He was very cute, and suddenly Hermione understood how they always managed to get their way. Melting a bit at his bright smile, she kneeled down to be closer to their height.

“It isn’t nice to lie. Tell me what you’ve done and I promise I won’t be cross.” They were saved from her false promises of leniency by the front door opening. Before she could even question who was there, Charlie sprinted out from the sitting room and towards the front door.

“Uncle Fab!!!!” The excitable child leapt from the ground, and Hermione’s breath rushed from her chest in a panic before watching as Fabian managed to catch the airborn menace.

“Charlie you can’t just jump like that! What if your Uncle hadn’t been ready to catch you? You could’ve been hurt.” A worried smile placed itself on her face as Charlie pouted and looked down sadly. She knew what he was doing, sticking out his lip and pretending to look remorseful, but he was so cute she couldn’t bring herself to care.

“No one cares about me then I guess?” Gideon joked as he followed behind his brother. The handsome man smirked at Hermione, winking when he caught her eye and she could feel a blush begin to creep up her neck. Gideon insisted on flirting with her every time she saw them (although it was hardly a personal problem as he was a known flirt).

Percy, who seemed to have wandered back to the front of the house after tidying the area where he and his brother had been playing, wrapped his arms lovingly around Gideon’s legs. It was a shocking display of affection from the boy and Hermione had to tell herself to close her mouth that was hanging wide open.

“Uncle Fab I haven’t seen you in 800 million years.” Charlie whined, digging his face into his uncle’s shoulder. Fabian just laughed and ruffled the boy’s hair, stepping towards the kitchen.

“I saw you last Sunday. I do have to visit my godchild you know.” Hermione knew that he was Charlie’s godfather, but it was heartwarming to see how much he cared for the boy.

“Its nice of you to stop by. Molly and Arthur are enjoying a bit of a date night. I got them tickets to a Celestina Warbeck concert.” Truthfully, Hermione had all but had to bribe Molly to leave her children that night, but she needed to see the boys, needed to be reminded that goodness and hope existed in the world. Studying horcruxes and their origins had left her haunted to the core of her very soul, so much so that the very thought made her shiver.

She now had possession of at least half of Voldemort’s horcruxes and it was draining the very happiness and good from her soul. After hours of sitting in her study and reading through dark books about dark magic with a dark object, it was like the very air hung around her in a heavy fog. That was when she’d scrounged together some tickets to get Molly and Arthur out of the house. 

A sad smile spread across her face as her features contorted for a moment into a haunted expression. When George’s small voice began to call for her, she was brought back to the present and the warmth of the Burrow. In every way the locket had made her feel hollow and small, the Burrow made her feel shrouded in love. Moving back to the playpen, she grabbed the two toddlers who were reaching out for her and a chance to see their uncles. The twins were probably Fabian and Gideon’s biggest fans, but Hermione clung to them, unwilling to part from their warmth.

As she returned to the kitchen, one twin on each hip, she watched as Gideon popped down to a squat and held out his arms to grab Percy. “Ah if it isn’t may favorite little bookworm.” Percy smiled coyly at him, and Hermione wondered if his Uncle’s death had affected him more than anyone had ever guessed. Luckily, Hermione had no plans to let them die. Besides, she had a score to settle with Dolohov.

“Hermione….Hermione…Merlin is she alright.” Fabian whispered the last bit to his brother, but Hermione shook her head, shaking away her murderous, vengeful thoughts with it.

“Oh sorry I just….” Hermione sighed heavily, letting down Fred who was now wriggling out of her grasp and towards where Bill was lurking near the entryway of the kitchen. “Its been a long day and I needed this. Truthfully, I’ve been chasing a lead in my mission for days and getting nowhere.”

Hermione had felt for days like a towel that had been overwrung. Over the past week or so, she’d gotten maybe an hour or two of sleep every night, plagued by nightmares enduced by both the impossible task of trying to figure out how to destroy the Horcruxes of this time and the immensely distressing knowledge of exactly how one splits their soul. In all her research in the past, she’d never found out how precisely a Horcrux was made. Now…now she couldn’t forget it.

“You know, there’s been a ton of rumor about this secretive mission you’re on. Some of my personal favorites are that you’re the head of an illegal potion ingredient ring, or that you are secretly Dumbledore’s long-lost love child.” Gideon’s tone was light and jovial, but Hermione paled at the idea of people gossiping about her life. She had tried so hard to not draw attention to herself.

Fabian, sensing her growing distress, placed a friendly hand on her shoulder. “I know that you have your secrets, but if you ever need anything, don’t hesitate to let us know. We don’t know you very well, but you have a good heart and that’s enough for me.” His warm smile felt unearned and cheap, and guilt began to collect in the pit of her stomach. She wished that she could tell everyone her secret, to not keep this ever-spinning web of lies, but she couldn’t risk it. Too many people knew too much already.

She was saved from her sorrow by Ron’s fussing setting off her watcher alarm. “Oh I best go check on him.” Hermione lowered George down, who was pouting at being released from her arms. She got on her knees to be closer to him and brushed her hand against his face. “I’ve got to go make sure Ronald is alright. How about when I come back we get you both tucked in to bed and I’ll read you Babbity Rabbity?”

It was so easy to bribe two year olds, and his pout immediately turned into a bright smile as he ran towards where his brother was playing with Bill. The three adults shared a small chuckle at his sudden turn of behavior and Hermione used her wand to wordlessly summon some milk and a burp cloth from the setup Molly had left behind.

Ron’s room was what had been Ginny’s in her time, although she knew that he really slept in a bassonet in his parent’s room at night. It wouldn’t have fit without magic, and Hermione was once again shocked by the innovation of the Weasleys. She always knew how difficult it had been for them, being poor but raising seven children, but seeing it first hand fostered a newfound respect for Arthur and Molly. The nursery had been transferred from one child to the next, meaning that Bill had been the first to sleep in the wooden crib with fading white paint.

A mobile of Quidditch brooms spun around from the ceiling, as Ron cried in his containment. He was far too small to stand yet, although that didn’t stop him from trying to roll around to explore his jail. When she leaned over to grab him, she noticed that in his attempts to move around, he had pinned his arm inside his blanket. “No wonder you’re crying silly boy.”

He was still so small, even after having grown from his month of life. Tufts of bright red hair jutted out from his head haphazardly, looking rather odd on a baby. Ron drank the bottle quickly, hardly needing any coaxing from her, and when he finished it all, she turned him and put him near her shoulder, patting his back gently.

In the moonlight from that room, she began to reminisce about all the nights she’d spent there. Ginny had begun inviting her over for sleepovers after her fourth year, and she could still hear their girlish giggles when she closed her eyes. Ron distracted her from her memories as he began to fuss again, and Hermione sighed.

She moved quietly with him to where the old, worn, wooden rocking chair sat in the room near the window. Closing her eyes, she thought back to her mother, and what she remembered always calmed her when she was a child.

“You won’t know this man. He was a very famous muggle singer. My mum used to always walk around the house and sing as loud as she could. Her voice wasn’t very good but…” Hermione swallowed down a moment of sadness and waited for it to pass. “Its not the being good that matters, it’s the sharing what you love with the people who matter most.”

Her throat tightened as she began to sing Can’t Help Falling in Love with You. It had been her mother’s favorite song to sing her as a child, and just as her mother had done, she sung it for the fussing Weasley. Ron began to settle against her chest as she sang slowly, staring at him with a desperation that filled her soul.

It was so overwhelming sometimes, to see the people she was protecting. To look into Lily’s eyes, to chat with Alice and Frank, to greet Fabian and Gideon when they come to see the children they never got to see grow. After allowing herself a few more moments of Ron sleeping peacefully on her chest past when he needed, she tiptoed away from him and closed the door.

By the time she got down the stairs, every inch of the kitchen was covered with flour and two very guilty looking set of twins.

“I left you alone for ten minutes!!!” Hermione screamed, looking around frantically as she pulled her wand from her pocket and cast a cleaning charm on the walls. “What happened?” She didn’t bother to look at Fabian and Gideon or Fred and George and instead skipped straight to Bill, who had only been slightly scathed by the flour.

“Uncle Gideon said he wouldn’t make cookies and then the flour exploded. George did some accidental magic!” An excited grin split his face, and he looked to be nearly jumping with happy anxiety. Hermione snapped her head to the twin on the right who was smiling, but covered in flour. With no regard for the state of her jumper, she wrapped her arms tightly around the two year old.

“You did magic?” She asked him, swinging him around her in a circle. He giggled as he turned and squealed. “What a wonderful little wizard. We’ll have to tell mummy and daddy when they get home.”

“Tell Mummy and Daddy what?” Arthur’s voice cut in, as Molly and Arthur stepped out of the floo. Charlie, still dusted with flour despite a cleaning charm, ran up to his mother and jumped into her waiting arms.

“Georgie did magic!” Charlie insisted, pointing energetically at his younger brother in Hermione’s arms. Fred burst into tears then, and Hermione watched as Fabian leaned down to pick up the crying toddler. 

“Don’t worry Freddie. You have all the time in the world to do magic. You have a long, full life ahead of you.” Fred snuggled into Fabian’s chest, and Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.

Hermione swallowed her bitter memories of Fred’s funeral as they flashed in her mind, and placed a hand on the toddler’s cheek. “Yeah Fred. You’re going to have a long, long life. I’ll make sure of it.”


	28. Black Market Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucius and Hermione make a breakthrough in the plan, but nothing ever really goes to plan does it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really excited about this chapter and I hope you are too! I am already feeling so much better going back to writing at my own pace. I hope everyone of you is staying safe and healthy in this time in whatever way you can! Your kind words mean the world to me, and I dedicate this chapter to all of you!

Lucius Malfoy was 100% without a doubt the most dramatic person Hermione had ever met. Now you would think that was a bold claim considering she lived with Lavender Brown for 6 years, but it was true.

“Do you ever clean?” He had asked her dismissively, pulling out a handkerchief she had no doubt was worth more than her parent’s house and rubbing it along the handles of the armchair he was going to sit in. The floral upholstery was faded from years of sun exposure, and the wood was slightly stripped from lack of care, but it was still a nice old chair that Hermione often enjoyed escaping to with a book.

“Frequently.” She bit back, reminding herself for the third time that week that murdering him would bring unwanted attention. Her meetings with Lucius had increased in quantity now that she was actively trying to figure out how to destroy the horcruxes. Fiendfyre itched at the back of her mind, but she knew it was too dangerous; even with some of the most powerful wizards in Britain aiding her.

“And you’re certain about this contact?” Hermione puzzled, grasping her tea mug to her face to fight against the slight chill in the air. It was a dreary beginning to April, as rain had plagued them for days now. 

“Certain about their possession of basilisk venom? Yes. Certain they won’t try and rob you of your galleons and leave you to die? Not so.” Lucius’ condescending aristocratic smile painted his features and Hermione found herself once again lamenting his handsomeness. Just like his son, insufferable but incredibly attractive.

“That’s…” Hermione paused to take a sip, staring at the flames from the fire as they licked the stones in the fireplace. The light crackling that it provided filled the space when words did not, keeping the awkwardness of their interaction from trapping her. “Lets say I don’t die. We still need a goblin-wrought blade. What if…” The gears began turning in her head and she snapped her head up, making eye contact with the pureblooded wizard. His icy blonde hair was pulled back with a rich-looking grey velvet ribbon, and he remarked her with a hesitant interest at the wild look on her face.

“Either you’ve finally gone insane or you’ve had an idea. I’m not entirely sure which I find more disagreeable.” Lucius’ eyes followed her as she ran out of the room and returned a moment later with a book in her hand. 

“I knew this would come in handy one day.” Hermione thumbed through the pages, her eyes searching rapidly across the text. With a loud aha, she tossed the book at Malfoy. “Your grandfather lost this dagger in a bet with Rawden Lestrange. Talk to Bella. Insist that you want to try to get it back…” Her rambling paused and Lucius smirked at her.

“And what? Bella will walk me down to her husband’s vault and open the doors for me? Even if I was to get the cup, assuming its even there yet, didn’t you speak of curses that had been placed on it? I’m hardly about to risk my life on a whim.” He stood, his lanky body towering over Hermione’s petite frame. She had long overcome her needs to shrink down like a wilting flower when someone stood above her. Lucius Malfoy had not scared her before and she would be damned before she’d allow him to intimidate her now.

“Obviously we’d need to confirm the details. I don’t know if you’ve forgotten but I have spent three years of my life preparing for this moment. I am no stranger to preparation. But if I can provide those details. This is our way in.” Hermione pressed her finger to the picture of the dagger, a fire behind her eyes. Lucius simply nodded his head non-committedly and walked to her front parlor, grabbing his cloak from the hook that it hung on.

“How is she?” Hermione called, watching his movements still and stiffen as he shifted his cloak. 

“Well thank you. Although the smell of my aftershave apparently makes her feel sick. Not to mention she has the elves up at all hours making her Merlin knows what.” There was a softness to his eyes as he spoke, and although Hermione knew he would never admit it, he was overjoyed at her cravings and concerns.

“Lucius can I…can I ask you a question?” A lump formed in the back of her throat, and Hermione averted her eyes to a piece of thread coming off the sleeve of her jumper. Her blood flowed to her face as she waited a moment or two for him to respond.

“Very well.” His voice was clipped and cold, not unlike how he’d been when they’d first met.

“Why did you take the mark? Abraxas doesn’t have it. I know he doesn’t. So why do you?” It was something she’d always wondered. It was no secret that Abraxas Malfoy had been one of the original followers of Tom Riddle, but Draco had told her that his grandfather had never born the mark. It was his greatest regret. Hermione had seen it in his eyes when he spoke, she’d seen the scars from where he’d tried to burn it off or cut it.

Lucius’ back was to her, facing towards the floo. His hand was curled against the back of the armchair that was next to him, and she could see his grip tighten, the pale skin of his hand turn pink and white from the strain of his grip. 

“I was 18 when I met the Dark Lord. My father always spoke very highly of his friend from school. He said that he was going to change the world. I will not apologize for my beliefs Ms. Granger. My family is old and proud, and I still believe that muggleborns threaten our world. I took the mark for the same reason I now shun it now…to protect my family.” Lucius turned his head, looking over his shoulder at Hermione with a stony expression. “Now good day Ms. Granger.” 

With a step forward and a swift drop of floo powder, Lucius disappeared into the flames and back to Malfoy Manor. Hermione’s mind was not settled however, and she swallowed back all the questions she had. Maybe one day he would open up to her.

After he had gone, Hermione put up her wards again. Preparing a small bag of galleons and her new traveling cloak, she pulled the hood up around her face and grabbed a handful of floo powder. Her new cloak had a notice-me-not charm cast onto the fabric, leaving Hermione essentially anonymous in the growing crowds of Diagon Alley. Easter holidays allowed for students to run up and down the cobblestone streets of the shopping district, and Hermione took their noise and distraction as an opportunity to slip down to Knockturn Alley unnoticed. 

Despite her hardening of spirit and the hell she’d lived through both in her past and her present, Knockturn Alley still turned her stomach and raised the hair on the back of her neck. As the light from Diagon Alley faded around her, she brushed past a mean-looking wizard who glared at her as she passed.

The address Lucius had mentioned was a worn and rundown building that looked like it at one point had been an inn of some sort. The sign that hung above the door was so faded that she couldn’t quite make out what it said. Nevertheless, she pulled her wand from her sleeve pocket so it was in hand and made to open the dull grey door. The inside of the shop (if you could even call it that) was just as bleak as the outside had been, the only light provided by a wilting candelabra near the counter and the small sliver of daylight provided by a small window on the ceiling.

Hermione removed the hood of her cloak, releasing the notice-me-not charm and freeing her curls from the containment. Maybe it was all the dark magic energy floating around in the air of Knockturn Alley, but her hair seemed to be growing bigger with each passing moment.

A short woman with broad, stocky shoulders and a severe looking grey bun regarded her with a scowl before pointing her nose up in the air. “What can I be helping you with miss?” It was an innocent enough question, or sounded like it, but Hermione knew this was a test. Her mind whirled back to what Lucius had told her.

“I seek what cannot be sought.” It was an idiotic turn of phrase to use to enter an underground potion ingredient trade, but she supposed it was not the wits of the dark wizards that they were known for.

The woman nodded her head reluctantly, rubbing her hands on her apron. It was at that point that Hermione first noticed that they had been covered in what she didn’t want to acknowledge looked like blood. Wobbling slightly as she walked, the woman led Hermione to a set of stairs that led down into a basement of sorts. Unease filled her chest, but she knew that this was the only way she could get basilisk venom. Steeling her spine and standing tall, she followed the stairs down to a dimly lit cavern.

The basement had a dirt floor, and was filled with potions, jars, animals, cauldrons, just about anything that could be traded on the black market. A few venders seemed to be manning tables, one particularly nasty looking wizard with a scar running from his left eyebrow down to his lip, seemed to have a collection of dragon eggs. If Hermione had been here for any other reason, she might’ve plotted a way to steal the eggs, return them to their families. But she wasn’t here to free dragons; she was here for basilisk venom.

It took her a moment of deep breaths and calming thoughts to ignore the likely hundreds of laws being broken in such a compacted space. Her eyes didn’t know where to look until they snapped onto a familiar face. “For Merlin’s sake…” She mumbled to herself under her breath. Lucius had been quite blasé about who his contact was and Hermione knew now why. She never would have come if she’d known he was the one she’d be dealing with.

Mundungus Fletcher was somehow slimier looking younger and with hair. He was a piss-poor excuse of a thief and an even worse member of the order. Hermione trusted that he owed Dumbledore his life, but the slimey little git owed her no such dedication.

She took a deep breath, pushing down her hatred and revulsion as she approached the wooden table in the corner under one of the sconces. “I’m told that you are the man to see to procure certain…rare ingredients.” Mundungus’ smile split his face, a toothpick between his teeth.

“Ah yes. Young master Malfoy said he’d be sending someone along for an ingredient. Didn’t say it’d be such a lovely broad though. Not sure his missus would be too happy to know he keeps such beautiful company.” He leaned closer to her, enough that she could smell his awful breath. Forcing a smile, Hermione muttered some empty thanks.

“Yes well, Malfoy owes me a favor. Nothing more.” Hermione tried not to let her impatience show, but she hated being in this place and being so vulnerable. “Now do you have the venom?”

His smile slid slightly as he realized she was getting right down to business, but he moved his toothpick and checked his surroundings before opening his vest. There seemed to be about 15 hidden pockets cut into the orange horizontally striped lining of Fletcher’s waistcoat, and Hermione wondered what other illicit or stolen materials he had hiding in there.

“Aye I got it.” Mundungus leered, pulling a small vial of greenish-yellow liquid. Hermione held her hand out, reaching for it before he pulled it away. “Uh uh uh. Not so fast poppet. Where’s my gold? 100 galleons.” 

Hermione’s eyes snapped wide, glaring at the man. “Malfoy said you’d procure it for 80.” 

“Well that was before. Now its 100. Had to smuggle this in from the continent you know. Not so easy to do.” Hermione tried desperately to not set him on fire with her mind, and only the knowledge that every person in here could likely kill her in an instant was keeping her from brandishing her wand to his throat.

“Fine you twitchy little git.” Her annoyance couldn’t be held back anymore and she found it incredibly lucky that she happened to have packed extra galleons to pick up some potion ingredients (not illegal ones) on her way home. Counting out the galleons in the bag, she drew the drawstring closed with an aggressive yank and tossed the suede bag down in front of him.

Always the entrepreneur, he double checked her counting before giving her a toothy grin and handing her the small vial. “Pleasure doing business with you love.” Fantasizing about knocking his teeth in was not good for her health, so she simply nodded through clenched teeth and began heading towards the door.

The whole place had made her feel wrong, like the contamination of being near so much dark magic and questionable characters. She rushed past the shopkeep with a hurried goodbye and nearly ran out of the shop. Her legs carried her quickly back towards where the light from Diagon Alley poked through, and she was determined to not stop until she was back in the general population. In her haste to exit the shop, she had forgotten to pull her hood back over her head. Her first mistake.

Her heart was beating so fast that she didn’t quite notice the tightness in her chest, the burn of her skin. She’d felt it before, but she couldn’t place where. Shrugging it off, Hermione continued her march towards freedom. The pain came and went, increasing and decreasing as she navigated the back streets and alleyways of the darker parts of the shopping center.

She was mere steps away from reaching the corner of Diagon Alley when she was pulled from behind into a dark alleyway. Before she could scream, a silencing spell was cast over her. Desperate, she pulled out her wand to fight off her attacker.

She’d been careless, and she cursed herself as her wand was snatched from her hand. Whoever this was was nearly a foot taller than her, and all the strength in her body seemed to be doing nothing to stop him. Fear and panic filled her body and chilled her veins, rendering her helpless as her throat constricted.

Hermione was screaming, she knew that she was screaming, but no sound came out.

“I told you I’d be watching you.” A menacing voice spoke. Hermione closed her eyes, trying to slow her heart and focus. Wandless magic was very draining, but it was her only option now. Suddenly the pain in her chest made sense, and she was very aware of where she’d felt it before.

“Dolohov.” Hermione mouthed, cursing herself and all that is magic that she had been so foolish. He’d known at the party…somehow. He’d known that she wasn’t who she said she was. It would’ve only been a matter of time before she’d run into him; before he’d seen through her disguise.

“I’m flattered you remember me lastachka.” His breath was hot on her neck, and she tried to pull away from his hands. One curled around her neck, tightening as she fought against him. “My Lord would be most interested to speak with you, but lucky for you, I’ve got some fun for us first.”

Terror filled Hermione’s body as the familiar discomfort of air tightening just before apparition caught in her stomach. In the blink of an eye, the bleak cobblestone streets faded around her, and were replaced by an old room, empty except for a armchair with a piece of wood broken off from the back. An old fireplace took up a majority of one wall but looked as if it hadn’t been lit in quite some time. One nearly burnt out candle sat on the mantle of the decrepit looking stone fixture and Hermione’s eyes slowly adjusted to its dim light.

The familiar feeling of panic seized her, and Hermione fell to the ground, closing her eyes and trying to focus on her breathing. Of all places to have a panic attack, this was far from ideal.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” Antonin grabbed Hermione’s hair, forcing her to look at him. “No time for that lastachka. I have questions, and you are going to answer them.”

Hermione glared at him silently, her anger starting to outweigh her panic. When she opened her mouth to tell him off, nothing came out. He’d managed to bind her too, while she was distracted.

“Oh yes. The silencing charm. I’ll get rid of that. Scream all you want, no one will hear you.” There was something so deeply chilling about his smile. It was easygoing, carefree, and yet carried the cruelty of his actions. It was the same smile he’d had when he’d cursed her when she was 16.

When he did undo her charm, she didn’t scream; she refused to give him the satisfaction. “Now don’t look at me like that poppet.” Dolohov ran his wand tip almost intimately along the curve of her chin. “This can be easy, or this can be hard. Answer the question truthfully and I will not torture you. Lie to me and…well you seem to be a smart witch, you put the pieces together.” 

Hermione had been tortured before, and she couldn’t help but smirk smugly back at her captor. “I would rather die.” Mustering all her courage, she lifted her head into his wand tip and spit in his face.

Stiffening, Antonin pulled away, conjuring a handkerchief from thin air and wiping his face with it. His long brown hair was greasy and slicked back, his dark eyes nearly burning with what Hermione determined to be a mixture of desire and rage.

“That was a mistake.” Stepping back a few paces, he raised his wand, and Hermione prepared for what she knew to be coming. Occlumency could help with the pain of the cruciatus curse…but then Hermione wasn't a very strong occlumens.

As the curse hit her body, her spine curved in an unnatural way. All the air rushed from her lungs and suddenly there didn’t need to be a silencing spell to stop her scream. It was like electricity was moving through her body instead of blood, locking her limbs into place.

He pulled back, and Hermione barely recovered her breath before another shot hit her body. It felt like her bones were liquifying as her body attempted to block out her pain. Maybe he was content after five minutes, because he lowered his wand. A slight sheen of sweat shined off his forehead.

The only thing Hermione had the energy to do was cry, but she wouldn’t allow herself. Laying on the floor was all she could muster as he looked down at her with a frown. “I will leave you alone to think lastachka. I pray the next time we meet you may be a little more….forthcoming.”

Without the power to turn her head, Hermione simply listened to his footsteps as they retreated. The bastard even took the time to loudly declare his charms trapping her in, making sure she knew there was no way out. Wandless and tortured, Hermione struggled against the ropes binding her hands together. Unable to get them undone, she rolled around, hoping her coin necklace would pop out from under her cloak.

After a few minutes of moving around, she managed to get her hand on the coin. _ Send help Dol… _ There was not enough energy left in her body for more than that, and Hermione simply had to hope that it was enough. As her mind faded to unconsciousness, she prayed; prayed that her collection of misfits could save her.


	29. An Unlikely Alliance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Hermione's life in danger, help comes from an unlikely source.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello folks. I finally got back to writing. My school year is almost at an end, so there has been more grading/work to do, but thankfully I only have three more weeks of school before I'm done for the summer. As always, a big thanks to Rotehexe and all of you who take the time to leave comments and kudos. It means the absolute world to me!

“Well the first thing that needs to happen is you have to calm dow…” Remus barely managed to move his head in time before a ceramic pitcher shattered against the wall directly behind where his head had been.

“If you tell me to calm the fuck down one more time, I will kill you.” Sirius’s voice was angry and dark as he warned, a growl coming up from his throat as the air around him crackled with the potential for accidental magic. Regulus looked only at a fixed spot on the wall, a small chip in the wallpaper where it was beginning to fade and peel, clearly trying to think of anything but Hermione’s disappearance.

Word had come through their enchanted coins nearly half an hour ago now and all that had occurred was a pitcher had been broken and there were three new holes in the walls of Sirius’s flat. Regulus had managed to quell his brother long enough to drag him by the collar into the fireplace and over to Remus’s home. When they’d arrived through the glow of the fire, it was to utter destruction in the man in question’s parlor. It seemed that Sirius wasn’t the only one with a penchant for breaking things when he was upset.

Remus paced the floor of the sitting room they’d moved into, restless against what felt like seemingly impending doom. Hermione was the key to all of their plans. Without her…he didn’t even imagine what was possible. “Okay so what do we know?” Regulus finally spoke, his voice thick with confusion and anger. No one had an answer for that though, and it fell upon the room and stuck to them like a film.

What did they know? Hermione was gone, in danger at least. They knew enough to know that Dol was likely Dolohov. Regulus seemed to shiver at that, Hermione had warned him that Dolohov was a threat to her. He hadn’t listened. He hadn’t listened and now Hermione’s life was in danger.

Sirius was having a similar collection of thoughts as he sank into the armchair across from Regulus. Remus stopped his pacing in front of Sirius, looking down with a sad resignation towards the man. “You know who we need.” Remus’s voice was strained as he spoke, and the realization slowly formed on Sirius’s face as he transformed from fierce anger to rage.

“Bullshit. That wanker got her message too and where the fuck is he? And where the fuck is Malfoy?” Sirius sat straight up, placing his hands on his face and rubbing his eyes. He hadn’t had a drop to drink since Hermione had brought Regulus back to him, but he could feel the blood flowing in his veins. The backs of his eyes buzzed, and his knee began to shake, desperate for a drink. 

“They don’t know where I live. And on top of that, its too dangerous for Malfoy to be talking with us. Like the man or hate him, his wife is pregnant.” Sirius groaned, hating to know that Remus was right.

“Is…” The older Black brother heaved his chest as he rose from the chair, walking over to the small window on the opposite wall. “Is Snape still working at the apothecary on the corner in Diagon?”

Regulus and Remus both snapped their eyes to Sirius, amazed and distraught at the fact that he called him by his real name. The men were frozen for a moment before the younger Black slowly responded. “He does. As far as I’m aware. Sirius…why? You aren’t planning on going to talk to him are you?”

Remus nodded his head along with Regulus’s concerning, wordlessly agreeing.

“Of course I’m going to fucking talk to him. As much as I hate that twat, he’s the only one who can get close enough to Dolohov to find anything out. You’re supposed to be fucking dead…” Sirius pointed to Regulus who glared at the hand. “And you’re still recovering from the moon yesterday.” 

Remus looked as if he wanted to fight back, but he knew he couldn’t. The wolf was still too close for comfort right now. Not to mention if he saw Dolohov in this moment, he would likely not be able to contain his anger. Regulus didn’t look any happier about it, but the room settled with a resigned annoyance that Sirius was right.

“Get Snape. Bring him back here if you can. Sirius please just…don’t give him a reason. Hermione’s life is at stake.” Sirius’s anger flared and then shrunk, disappearing for a split moment to reveal the sadness behind his eyes. He had already lost so much, he would not let Hermione be next.

“I will be on my best behavior.” Sirius promised, returning his boyish smirk as if nothing was wrong. In a moment he was gone, nothing left of him but the dust of floo travel and a shattered vase.

* * *

When Hermione’s heavy eyes finally fluttered open, it was to the narrow beam of light coming through the board covered windows shining in her eyes. Her head was throbbing and her limbs felt weighted down. Soreness and aches moved up and down her arms as she tried to pull herself to a sitting position.

Why does my body hurt so much? Hermione thought to herself, before flashes of Dolohov’s sinister grin and the light leaving his wand came back to her. Choking back a scream, she slowly moved towards the wall, half-crawling and half rolling. After a few minutes of struggle, Hermione managed to get herself sat up.

She had no concept of time. No way to know how long she’d been asleep or how long she’d been gone. The coin around her neck was outside of her jumper so she knew that she must’ve been able to get a message through to her friends. Fear gripped her, and as her lungs began to burn with the pressure of filling them with air, her shoulders began to tremble. Crying seemed like a weakness, but she couldn’t hold back. Normally she could swallow back her tears or force her feelings away until she was ready to face them, but there was nothing left of her to fight.

Being tortured at Malfoy Manor had been the worst moment of her life. It truly had been, and the scar on her arm would be a constant reminder, an ever-present companion to remind her that the world she had nearly died to save would never truly accept her. Hermione had never cared about any of that, always pushing through. Putting one foot forward until eventually her slow and steady march would lead her to a better future. Every name, jinx, and curse sent her way knocked her down and made her stronger until she had created an impenetrable collection of mental armor that protected her. Of course, that had all shattered when Harry Potter had died.

It wasn’t even the cruciatus that hurt her the most. It was the helplessness. Hermione had calculated and researched and prepared so that she would never again be helpless. Yet here she was, locked in the decrepit remains of some kind of pureblooded estate, wandless and weak.

Dolohov had been too much of a risk, an unexpected variant she hadn’t calculated. The Dolohov in her time had been in Azkaban. How was she to know that the curse he’d cast on her gave them some sort of twisted connection. Hermione took a deep breath (as best she could with the pressure in her lungs) and focused herself on her occlumency. It was not one of her best skills, but it would help with the pain.

Leafing through her memories, she painstakingly began to block off her mind. Dolohov was not a skilled legillimens by any means, but the knowledge she held was too important to chance. Brick by brick, she locked away all her memories. Locked away Lily and James and Sirius and Remus and Severus and Lucius. Locked away the horcruxes and the basilisk venom and her journal. Hours seemed to pass as she excruciated under this process; ignoring the bitter stinging in her bones, aftershocks of the curse.

By the time the familiar crash of footsteps against the creaking wooden floors began to approach, all of her thoughts and memories were safely behind the wall of her creation.

“Ahhh lastachka. You’re awake.” Dolohov was eating an apple, the crisp crunching of his teeth digging into the juicy red fruit causing Hermione’s stomach to turn. She didn’t even know how much time had passed since she’d last eaten. Refusing to respond, Hermione simply stared blankly ahead of her.

Dolohov seemed amused by this, wiping the juice from the apple away from his mouth with the dirty cuff of his robes. Some stubble rubbed against his sleeve, and Hermione noticed that his appearance was far more haggard than the last time she’d seen him at Lucius Malfoy’s birthday ball. The darkness yesterday…or maybe earlier that day, she really had no concept of how long it had been, had prevented her from truly seeing his face. Now in the small bits of sunlight she could manage, there was only one reasonable conclusion. He was finally on the run.

Hunger set in as the wizard took another bite of the apple, and against her wishes, Hermione’s stomach let out a loud gurgle.

“Oh so you’re hungry pet. Can’t have that can I? What kind of host would I be if I didn’t offer my…honoured guest some refreshment?” As if to add even more humiliation to her existence in this nightmare, Dolohov tossed the apple at the floor in front of her, silently watching it roll until it came to a halt by her leg. It was simple though, the decision to not take it. She’d rather die.

Expectantly, he waited for her to react, but when she didn’t move his patience began to wear thin. Approaching where she sat, leaned against the wall, Dolohov squatted down just far enough away so he was out of arms reach. He may be a bastard, but he wasn’t stupid enough to get close.

“I have some questions for you lastachka. The first, why were you at Lucius Malfoy’s birthday party disguised as some pureblooded French whore? What is it you want?” Hermione managed to swallow down the bile that had risen in her throat. Her disgust for Dolohov settled into her stomach like a lead weight. Taller than she was, and nearly twice as broad, she knew she didn’t stand a chance physically. The only way out would be with mental strength. It was an inevitability that he would torture her again, but if she could just hold out until they came for her, then that was victory enough.

Instead of answering the question, Hermione sucked on her teeth, forcing saliva to form in her dehydrated and dry mouth. Rearing back her head so she was staring in his black eyes, she spit in his face. “I will never tell you anything.” The words were a promise, carried by the will to live not for herself but for all those who she had sworn to protect.

Dolohov stalled, frozen as the spit ran down his cheek. Grabbing a grimy looking grey handkerchief from his robe pocket, he wiped it off as he stood. “I did offer you a less painful way to give me what I want. Don’t forget that.”

As the wand in his hand raised towards her, she prepared herself for the cruciatus…for the pain that she had already endured to turn up again. Dolohov was a sick bastard though, so her expectations fell far short from what he had planned. 

An unfamiliar greenish light filled the room, as a smoke emitted slowly from the tip of Dolohov’s wand. “What? What is this?” Hermione wondered aloud, her lungs burning as she began to breathe in the vapor. Holding her breath, she darted her eyes around her in a crazed frenzy. She couldn’t stop herself from breathing forever and she had no idea what Dolohov had just done.

“You’ve locked your mind out to me lastachka, so in return I’ve trapped you inside of it. Enjoy the prison of your mind. Hopefully when I come back, you’ll be a little more…pliable.” Once again, all his teeth showed through his smile, like the big bad wolf right before he swallows up Little Red Riding Hood. Desperate for air, Hermione had to take a breath, allowing the smoke to fill her lungs. 

He approached her as her body slowly fell to the pain of the spell, forcing her mouth open and pouring down a potion of some sort. Hermione wanted to stop him, wanting to scream and move her arms, claw his eyes out, but she couldn’t do anything.

Once again, like a scratched record playing over, the last thing she heard before she felt the darkness drape around her like a blanket, was Dolohov’s footsteps once again leaving her alone, wandless, and without an escape.

* * *

“I assume you are here for potions ingredients, Black.” Snape’s low drawl cut through the mindless chatter of two of the shops patrons. Sensing an air of antagonism approaching at the two men made eye contact, the women who had been shopping made a quiet exit, their wide eyes looking over their shoulders to catch one final glimpse of the impending drama.

“Snape could I…” Sirius swallowed his pride and vitriol and straightened his back. Even if he was negotiating with a snake, he wouldn’t lose his dignity. “Could I speak with you in private for a moment. It’s about a…mutual friend of ours.”

Snape’s black eyes were emotionless as he observed Sirius, folding his arms and looking around the now empty shop. Noting the sheen of the grease on the man’s hair, Sirius bit the side of his cheek to refrain from making a snarky comment. _I mean did the bastard have to make it so easy??? _Sirius thought to himself, balling his hand into a fist as the other wizard’s cold eyes appraised him.

“Very well.” Snape pulled out his wand, casting a spell that Sirius had never seen before.

“What did you do?” Sirius’s feet moved subconsciously into his battle stance and he prepared for a fight. If there was one thing Mad-Eye had managed to get through his head during Auror training, it was that he should never let his enemy take him off-guard.

Snape grimaced at the shift in Sirius’s posture, sneering as he scoffed. “A muffling spell. If someone were to stand outside or use a listening spell they wouldn’t be able to hear what we were saying.”

“Clever.” Sirius complimented, perhaps not as genuinely as he should have. He knew that Snape had a reputation in school for tinkering around with spell creation. Even he and James had used a spell that was rumored to have been of Snape’s own creation. Lily hadn’t spoken to James for a month after that. A ball of shame built in Sirius’s stomach. Hermione would’ve hated it too.

“They have Hermione.” His mouth ran dry on her name, the first time he’d spoken it out loud since the news came through. Somehow it felt like knives coming up his throat.

Snape’s sneer fell from his face, his perfect mask breaking for just a moment at this news. So he must not have had a chance to look at his coin yet. Sirius doubted that he would’ve checked it during his shift.

“Who has Herm….Granger?” His disinterested and vague emotional cover placed slowly over his features like a cold current running through his body. Sirius marveled at just how reptilian he’d seemed in that moment.

“Dolohov.” The moment that the word left Sirius’s lips Snape was in a flurry, moving quickly to lock the door and close the blinds. Gone was his emotionless mask, replaced by the one emotion Sirius had not expected…fear.

“We have to move quickly.” Snape insisted, walking swiftly towards the hallway to the back of the shop. Along the walls were various illustrations of potion ingredients as well as a handful of paintings of past owners, dating back to mid 17th century. Other than a raised eyebrow or two from the witches and wizards that decorated the hall, nothing moved in the painful staleness of the room. When they arrived at the third door on the left, Snape pushed it open and motioned for Sirius to follow him inside quickly.

It looked to be a small potions lab with something foul smelling brewing. The putrid smelling red liquid was the least of Sirius’s worries as Snape began to speak.

“Dolohov looked particularly proud of himself when he waltzed in here earlier for ingredients. I didn’t think anything of it then but now that I know he has Granger…” Snape trailed off, his robes swishing behind him as he searched the shelves lining the walls for the correct book. “Its an old potion; French in its origin.” Eyes dashed over tomes of red, gold, green, blue and yellow leather before finally landing on a worn black tome with faint silver lettering.

“Based on my…brief meeting of Dolohov and his reputation, I assumed he’d be a cruciatus man.” Anger flared behind Sirius’s eyes and he forced his hands into fists, digging his nails into the skin of his palm. If Dolohov had even had a passing thought of hurting Hermione there would be nothing left of him to go to Azkaban.

“This potion…its dark. Darker even than my tastes care for. The design of the potion was by a dark wizard who was unsatisfied with the power of his torture methods. From my understanding, it locks someone inside their own mind. If he gave this to her…” Snape paused over the words on the page before quickly snapping the book shut. “I’ll brew the antidote but whatever she is experiencing. She will wish it had just been the cruciatus.”

Sirius felt the air rush from his lungs like Snape’s words had dealt him a blow. “When we find her, I’m going to kill him.” The words dripped from his lips like a promise, with no fire and no anger following them. It wasn’t a question or a hope, it was a certainty. Where there should’ve been rage, there was nothing. Numbness flowed in his body, as if replacing his blood. Nothing mattered. Nothing other than her.

“The antidote takes 12 hours to brew. Find out where Dolohov has her. When you do that we can arrange a drop off for the antidote. You’ve already been here too long. Go now.” Snape rushed them out of the room, locking it behind them.

“Don’t get it twisted Snape, I still fucking hate you.” Sirius glared, shuffling along in front of the man towards the front of the shop.

“Likewise Black. But she’s…less intolerable.” Snape didn’t mean it, they both knew that. Even Snape’s frozen and blackened heart couldn’t keep from growing a fondness for Hermione, although he’d likely never admit it. “I owe her a debt. This will be more than enough payment.”

With a whip of Snape’s wand, the blinds reopened, and the muffling charm lifted. “Enjoy your ingredients Black. I do hope you never need to come here again.” There was an unspoken awkwardness between the men, for the first time in their life speaking at least somewhat civilly. Another unspoken thought between them was the deep worry they all felt. Hermione wouldn’t have called for help if she didn’t need it.

“Me too Snape…Me too.”


	30. The Wyvern's Wing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Severus Snape has never been one for bravado and recklessness, but there is a Gryffindor in danger and her life warrants an adventure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone. My position at my job has now ended and while it has afforded me more time to write, it has also lead to a lot of really intense anxiety and depression. This story means so much to me though, and however long it takes to update it, I promise all of you that I have not and will not abandon it. A big thanks to Rotehexe for staying on track with me, even when I don't talk to her for a month. Thank you all so much for your support, it really does mean the world to me.

Sirius’s flat had taken over as headquarters for operation Murder Dolohov; a fact which Regulus was endlessly irritated about. It wasn’t until Lucius finally arrived at half past seven that Sirius managed to stop pacing the length of the halls. They’d had to send a coin message with the address, which had proven to be somewhat tricky. Bloody unlucky that Remus was still recovering from the prior night’s moon, as he normally controlled Sirius when he was in his moods.

“What do we know?” Lucius didn’t bother to stop as he stepped through the floo, brushing the greenish soot from the shoulders of his robes. He glared at each option for sitting individually before pursing his aristocratic lips and turning up his nose.

Sirius’s left eyebrow twitched as the already abnormally short fuse on his anger burnt away to nothing. He desperately tried to swallow his fury, closing his eyes and picturing Hermione, what she needed. Right now, she needed him.

“Its Dolohov. All we have is three letters, D O L, but I’m hard-pressed to think it could mean anything else.” Sirius felt his skin crawl as the familiar longing for the wet heat of firewhiskey filled his veins. His sobriety hadn’t been pressed by anyone, he’d done it on his own, but he’d done it for her. Even now as her eyes filled his vision every time he closed his own, he craved the numbness of the amber liquid’s touch. 

“Dolohov is a remarkable wizard, meant in a sense of full offence. Were his grandmother not a Malfoy by birth, I would never choose to interact with such a messy sycophant. He is neither powerful enough to be feared nor stupid enough to be ignored. He’s been a rock in my shoe for long enough even before he developed his unhealthy obsession with Ms. Granger.” His aristocratic upbringing was so obvious in the way he snubbed his nose at Dolohov that Sirius nearly snorted. Imagine one psychopath calling out another for their psychopathy.

Sirius’s mind was once again drawn back to the situation at hand, and his nervous eyes flitted towards the ticking clock, whose tome seemed to grow louder with every second of silence. 

Regulus shot up from the chaise that he’d been sitting on, wearing the mad grin that meant he’d had an idea. “Wait his grandmother was a Malfoy?” Lucius had barely acknowledged him with a nod before he was up and off towards the back of the flat. When he returned, he carried in his arms a worn leather tome with a detailed tree decorating its front.

“Hermione took this book from the library at Grimmauld. Said it might come in handy one day.” Regulus laid the book on the table, opening to a mid-point page and flicking through until it landed on the Ms. “That woman plans for anything.”

Sirius and Lucius both looked at the book and then at each other, seemingly having a silent conversation about which of the confused wizards would press Regulus to explain himself. He was brilliant, but his brilliance was often impossible to follow. Neither of them needed to say anything though, as Regulus rolled his eyes and clarified.

“Dolohov’s grandmother, she was Ursina Malfoy correct?” Lucius nodded skeptically, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to make the connection. “The Dolohovs ran into some financial trouble a few decades back. They sold a lot of their excess, mother used to gossip about it insipidly with Liora Parkinson. But Ursina refused to let him sell her family’s estate…her dowry.” He grabbed the book, holding up the cover to showcase the glittering gold, embossed letters: _A Collection of Pure-Blooded Estates_.

It was like a light bulb had been finally screwed in and the light was shining as Malfoy and Sirius both caught up to Regulus’s mind.

“My grandfather used to tell me about that summer home. He said that it was such a shame that his cousin Ursina wasn’t using it. It’s isolated and unplottable. If he was going to hold her, it would be the perfect place.” Lucius grabbed the book off the table, carefully studying the list of properties.

“So we have a likely location, Snape is brewing us an antidote. What now?” That question hung in the air like a foul stench that refused to leave. Even if they had a location, it was unplottable. No one besides Dolohov was alive who’d ever seen it. It would be impossible to apparate or floo to. Lucius, however, seemed to be thinking as his brow furrowed.

“I’ll talk to Dolohov. Antonin may be insane, but he’s calculated. If I goad him enough he’ll want to brag about his conquests. Perhaps I could trick him into taking me to her.” Sirius and Regulus both stared at the man in shock. That was likely the most selfless thing the men had ever heard come from the mouth of a Malfoy.

“I can’t let you do that Lucius. Narcissa is ready to pop and Hermione would skin me alive if we got in the way of you meeting your son.” Lucius’s eyes flared with emotion for a passing moment, seemingly moved by the thought of his son. But just as quickly as it was there, it was gone, replaced by the indifferent smugness he always paraded around.

“Then what do you propose we do Black. Wander the countryside in hopes we run upon it? Ask Antonin in polite conversation if he happens to be keeping a muggleborn witch captive?” Sirius scowled at Lucius’s condescension but said nothing. He was right, they were stuck.

“Well we have until Snape finishes that potion to come up with a plan. Lets think.” Regulus waved his wand, summoning the chipped teapot that had been sitting on the counter in Sirius’s kitchen. Following after the teapot was a mix-matched collection of teacups as well as the tea tin. Despite continuing to stick his nose up in the air about the whole situation, Lucius joined Sirius and Regulus in their afternoon tea. After all, they had a lot to think about.

* * *

Severus Snape was never one for group projects, or really people for that matter. He’d only ever really had one friend, and after he’d mucked that up, he lived a rather solitary life. Now hate, he was quite familiar with that feeling.

He hated James Potter, for having what he was too much of a coward to. For loving the woman he loved, for the crime of being a better man while he remained a bitter, unloving man. He had the potential, to grow, to be a better man, something that he’d long lost hope of. Hermione had told him that. 

Lily and her son. He would die to protect them. Severus knew that if there was one truth in this world, it was that he loved Lily. While he wasn’t paying attention though, someone else had forced their way into his heart.

Hermione Granger had been an unexpected variable, a missed calculation that had thrown his whole life off course. She came to him with her story of desperation and protection, and he turned his long, hooked nose down on her and walked away. Something in her eyes that day had stopped him from killing her though. There was something so familiar in the way she looked at him.

It reminded him of Lily, all those years ago. She hadn’t been afraid of him or looked down on him. The way those green eyes shone his direction always made him feel like he could do anything, become anything. That light had been snuffed out of Severus when his friendship with Lily ended, or so he had thought.

When Trelawney had passed down her prophecy in Hogsmeade, Severus had run to his master, eager to provide him with information that would change the course of the war. However, when he found out that the Dark Lord meant to harm newly-pregnant Lily Potter, his heart had ceased to beat. That was until he remembered a bushy-haired witch who had promised him a better future.

Hunting down Hermione Granger had been more of a pain in the arse than he’d expected. Rumors had been circling for months about a mysterious young woman living in the old Dumbledore house in Godric’s Hollow. It didn’t take long for him to piece together just exactly who this woman was. 

Ward magic was physically and magically exhausting, which is why Severus was shocked when he arrived at the home and sensed her enchantments. It had taken him the better part of a day to dismantle the wards, one by one.

When she’d arrived home, he’d been sitting in her bedroom. They’d struck a bargain, an agreement; they shared a goal you see. Lily Potter must live. It was simple, but profound. She had to. Severus could never make up for all the hurt he’d brought her, all the pain he’d caused, all the death, the destruction, but he could do this one thing. He could ensure that Lily Potter and her son lived.

Hermione had been that missing piece of the puzzle, the unknown variable in the calculation of his bloody calculus. She showed him that he could be better, and now Dolohov had her.

Beneath the cold, unfeeling mask he wore while working at the shop, his heart beat erratically with rage. Antonin Dolohov was a fool and an idiot, which was a dangerous combination to have during a war. Despite being mediocre with his intellect, he made up for it with his magical power. Stirring the antidote to the potion once more, Snape marveled at just how insane and twisted Dolohov was.

Not to say that Severus Snape was ever one to shy away from the Dark Arts; there was a fascinating curiosity he found in the practice. It was amazing, to see just how far magic could bring people – to the very depths of human morality. Yet he’d never truly expected to have to deal with the damaging effects personally.

The potion was ready about fifteen minutes before he was set to close the apothecary, the pearly sheen glossing off the dim lighting of the brewing station. It was a terrible job, a cover really to throw off the Ministry, but Severus couldn’t help but be drawn to the potions and brews that had consumed so much of his life at Hogwarts. Being a potions master was the one thing he’d always excelled at, and it gave him a large degree of satisfaction to know that not even Perfect Potter was as good at potioning as him.

Thinking of James Potter drifted his thoughts back towards Sirius Black. The man was the root cause of so much of his suffering in school. Lily always used to tell him it was because Severus represented everything that Sirius should have been…everything Walburga had wanted him to be. That always niggled at the back of his mind, like a itch he just couldn’t scratch. Sirius Black was perhaps the most Slytherin of them all, telling a lie so convincing that it became his truth.

It wasn’t until his nails began to cut into his palm that Severus realized that he’d balled his hand into fists. The wooden, elaborate cuckoo clock on the wall, ticked away, counting down at an incomprehensibly slow pace towards close. There were ten minutes now, the vial of potion weighing his robes down from the inside pocket where it sat. 

Despite not being called, his Dark Mark itched uncomfortably, almost like it could feel his betrayal. Lord Voldemort had never and would never know true love, and it was love that was playing such a large role in his downfall. Lucius loved his wife; he loved his son (despite his birth still looming over the horizon). Regulus, for all his screwed-up priorities, loved his brother and loved his elf. Worst of all, for all of them was a love for Hermione.

It wasn’t romantic love for Snape the way it had been for the brothers Black and even he suspected, Remus. There was something warm in her eyes, that made him feel the inclusive and unconditional emotion that a young Lily Evans had once provided him. Hermione Granger knew. She knew everything awful that he had done, that he would one day do, and yet she put her trust in him. Bitterness and anger had filled his heart for so long, that he feared he would never escape its darkness.

Even when Hermione had offered her hand, had given him the knowledge that he could do the right thing, he had turned his nose up to her. He’d walked away from her once, and he would never do it again.

Severus breathed a small sigh of aggravation and relief finally free from the obligations of this narrative that he had created for himself. Being a Death Eater was like hiding in smoke, in constant fear that a strong breeze would come by and reveal him. Helping Hermione, being a part of her band of misfits, meant that not only was he being hunted from outside the smoke, but also from within it.

Voldemort would not bat an eye if it was discovered that Snape was undermining him. He would be dead before the charges could finish being read, but so would Lucius, Hermione, Lily…It was a strange feeling for him, to stare into the world with a care of others. He’d felt so alone, for so long. Lily had been the first to invite him into her world, out of the shadows. But like the scared child he had been, he held onto her too tight; afraid that like all the others in his life, she would find someone better to occupy her time.

The air was warm as Severus walked down the dimly lit streets of Diagon, ignoring the beautiful sight of streetlamps being lit. Lamps began to provide a glow to the cobblestone as he strutted past, focusing on nothing but the hefty beat of his heart sounding in his ears and the impossible phantom weight of the vial he carried. When he did finally arrive to the Leaky Cauldron to floo home like he did every evening at 8:00, Severus made sure to loudly announce the name of his home.

When he reappeared in the parlor of his home, he spent not time dallying, immediately redirecting with a new handful of powder to the address Black had sent earlier in the day. He could’ve walked from his work, but it was important to not draw attention. The Dark Lord’s paranoia would’ve activated had he not gone straight home. Severus couldn’t prove that he was being watched, but the hair on the back of his neck rose every time he left work. 

The flat was actually much nicer than he expected when he arrived, barring the fact that Sirius looked as if he was about to throw a cup of tea at Lucius’ head. 

“I know you know everything you poncey bastard, but for every moment you spend rolling your eyes at me, Hermione is suffering.” Sirius’s neck vein was popping out, which normally would’ve brought Snape great joy, but now was not the time.

“I see your strategy is to act like children. Not uncommon for you Black, but I must admit I am disappointed in you Malfoy.” Lucius simply sneered at the admonishment, turning away from his colleague. As close as Snape and Lucius had grown over the past few years, Severus had very little tolerance for the man’s moods.

“Is it ready?” Sirius asked, refusing to rise to the bait. There was a fierceness and singular focus in his eyes that Snape had never seen. The witty quip he’d prepared died in the back of his throat, replaced with a genuine answer.

“Yes.” Regulus offered Snape a cup of tea, and despite his nature, he titled his head in a brief nod and joined them.

“What seems to be the plan?” Snape brought the cup to his lips, quirking up one eyebrow as he shifted his eyes from Regulus to Lucius and finally to Sirius.

“We don’t have one.” Regulus replied, feeling the tension between Lucius and Sirius rise once again.

“We can’t be involved Severus.” Lucius interjected, seemingly continuing the argument that had been going when Snape arrived. “Regulus made a good point. Dolohov can’t know I was involved; I will not risk my life before the birth of my son. If we want the girl safe, and we are unwilling to kill Antonin, then neither Snape nor I can go with you. Honestly, Regulus shouldn’t risk it either.”

“Then I do it alone!” Sirius’s voice was so loud it echoed off the walls. He stood with such power and speed that he sent the chair he’d been sitting in several feet backwards. Rage, fear, and love warred behind his eyes and for the first time, Snape knew that they had something in common…someone they loved that they would die for.

“Dolohov is an idiot. Malicious yes but can be easily goaded. Lucius you may be unable to involve yourself due to your impending child, but I have no such luxury. And on the subject, have quite skilled experience with memory charms. We can thank the Dark Lord for honing this particular skill while I was in his service.” Snape stood from his seat, walking over to where the chair Sirius had been sitting in had fallen and picked it up. “I neither fear Dolohov nor death. There are far worse fates…far worse fates that cannot be stopped unless we save Granger.”

“Snape…” Sirius began, his voice breathy as he seemed to be seeing Severus in a new light for the first time.

“There’s no time. Dolohov is a creature of habit, and if we’re to find him, we need to move.”

* * *

Antonin Dolohov was indeed a creature of habit. Just like clockwork, at precisely 8:30 pm, he arrived at a pub in Knockturn called the Wyvern’s Wing. If one were to describe the inside of this establishment, sleazy wouldn’t be too far off. The bar itself was always cleaned, but with a residue of years of spilt drinks and blood laying on top. Floorboards creaked as they stepped on them, alerting the rather unpleasant collection of characters to a new arrival.

The plan had become very simple. Snape would get Dolohov drunk and trick him into revealing where Hermione was being kept, and then Snape would send the address via coin and Sirius would join him. Then it was just a matter of getting Dolohov out of the way.

“Snape?” Dolohov’s gruff voice greeted, a note of surprise filling the timbre as a notorious loner came to sit near him. “I’ve never seen you here before. Figured you were too busy with your nose skimming the clouds to lower yourself to our level.”

Antonin’s breath already stank of liquor, and Snape took all his strength to swallow the revulsion he felt to sneer at the man. “I find myself tonight in need of both alcohol and company.” 

Gesturing to the barman, Snape ordered a shot of firewhiskey. Of course, it would have no effect on him, as he’d swallowed a sobering potion just before. No alcohol he consumed for the next hour and a half would affect him.

“What brings you to company and drink? Can’t possibly be a woman.” It was an underhanded comment, but Snape elected to focus on the prior question.

“I find myself incredibly vexed by a problem I cannot resolve.” Body language could be a very powerful tool if utilized correctly. The quickening of Dolohov’s breath and the way he leant in meant that Snape was hooking him, now it was time to reel him in.

“Oh? And what great problem vexes such a man as yourself?” Snape smiled internally, validating what he already knew, Dolohov was an idiot.

“There’s a mudblood who came in the shop the other day. I was going to pay her a special visit, but when I tried to find her, she was nowhere to be found. Its been so long since I’ve felt the life leave someone unworthy of magic.” Snape chuckled darkly, turning his vacant expression towards Dolohov. “Don’t suppose you know this Granger bint. I’d love nothing more than to break out some of my grandmother’s old, dark spells and have a good time.”

Swallowing down the amber liquid in his glass cooled his throat, and he licked its sweetness off his lips as he watched carefully Dolohov’s reaction. The Russian had a scar on the left side of his bottom lip, which split when he smiled.

“Granger eh….and if I have?” 

“Liar.” Severus goaded, bored with how predictable he was.

“I am not a liar.” Dolohov looked around briefly, before leaning in even further towards Severus. “You can’t find her because I’ve got her locked up. I’m the same as you. Useless mudblood like that has no business being in the world. First noticed her at the Malfoy’s you know, tricked poor Reggie into taking her as his date. Good thing he’s dead because he’d kill himself if he knew that bint lied to him.”

Words flowed easier and easier for Dolohov, as Snape bought a bottle of firewhiskey and kept pouring. Dolohov told him everything, as long as he smiled, praised him, agreed with him…but then it was time for the real work.

“I’m jealous I have to admit.” Snape began, watching carefully as the bleary eyed man swallowed down another shot.

“Do you…” Dolohov paused for a moment to burp. “I could take you with me you know. Got to use this nice spell. Stupid bitch is trapped in an endless nightmare. You could do _anything_ to her right now and no one would be any the wiser.”

A ball of rage filled Snape’s stomach as he realized what Dolohov was talking about. Motivated more than ever, he smiled wickedly to mimic the psychopath in front of him.

“You’d really do that? I’ve never known you to be a sharer.” It was like manipulating a child, watching Dolohov rise to the occasion. If there was one thing this demented narcissist loved more than violence, it was people owing him.

“Well you scratch my back; I scratch yours right. Let’s just say you’ll owe me a favor. Nothing off the table.” Dolohov shot back one more drink, realizing that they’d emptied the bottle.

“Alright, deal.” Snape took his own shot, once again feeling the numbness of the potion rather than the taste of the whiskey.

“Let’s go see my pet then.” Dolohov instructed, stumbling away from the bar towards the floo. No one paid them any mind, the benefit of this establishment. No one said anything, no one noticed anything, and come tomorrow no one, even Dolohov would even remember that Snape was there at all. “Here’s the address, unplotted and all that.”

“Yes…lets.” Snape agreed, taking the parchment in his hand and memorizing the address before tossing it into the flames. It only took him a moment after Dolohov disappeared in the green flames to send the address through the coins. With a deep breath and determination he couldn’t quite measure, Snape too stepped through the flames.


	31. Into the Head of the Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a brief espionage mission, Sirius and Severus head to save Hermione, but maybe she doesn't want to be saved.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Life continues to be hectic as I have had a lot of job interviews and house-work to do, but I finally sat myself down and forced myself to write this chapter. I'm actually really happy with it! Please let me know what you think! As always, thank you all so much for your continued support, it means the world to me truly. Also a thank you once again to rotehexe for allowing me to frantically message her when I start writing.

“This home is…” Snape tried to swallow the judgement he felt as he gazed upon the dust and cobweb covered walls of the abandoned estate.

“Shite. I know. The one thing my dear old granny never would part with, even if it would keep us fed.” There was a bitterness to Dolohov’s voice that made Snape wonder if perhaps there was a human heart buried somewhere inside this vile creature. Any thoughts on the subject were pushed away nearly as quickly as they appeared when the wizard smiled that same toothy grin and shook his head. “But that’s not why we’re here is it? That bint is just around the corner. Keep her in the old parlor.”

Severus’s breath tightened in his lungs and his chest constricted with every step that he approached the room. Even before he arrived at the doors, there was something…off about the place. Evil he had only felt a handful of times before radiated out from the room like a smog polluting the air. 

Dolohov’s crooked nose glinted in the light from the lamps on the wall as he smiled proudly and pulled on the handle of the door, gesturing for Snape to go in first. It took all of his composure to not gasp audibly at the sight in front of him.

Hermione Granger could never sit still; it had been one of the things Severus had first noticed about the witch. At every moment, her brain was in the middle of processing at least 4 different things. When she read, she would play with her hair or chew on her lip, sometimes she would even tap her toes. Restless. Yet here she sat, in a threadbare, old, broken chair staring into a void. The life that had burned so brightly in her chocolate brown eyes was dulled, nearly extinguished as the blankness of her face overwhelmed him.

“Beautiful innit? That potion I found makes for quite the pretty picture.” Dolohov approached the witch brazenly, as if it was natural for him to do so. Long, bulky fingers wrapped themselves around the bottom edges of her hair, picking up the ends to sniff. “I wonder sometimes…if she tastes as good as she smells. That’s all mudbloods are good for anyway, right Sev.” 

Severus took one moment and then another to recover from the rage he was feeling. Every fiber of his being wanted to eviscerate Dolohov until nothing left of him existed besides a stain on the floor. 

“My curiosity is certainly peaked.” Snape responded, sweat beginning to form on the back of his neck as he waited for Black to arrive. Dolohov’s body moved in closer towards Hermione’s her features never distorting with the uncomfortably close distance…it was like no one was there at all. A moment later, the swishing sound of the floo connecting from the other room startled both wizards, and Snape watched carefully as the drunken Dolohov stood unsteadily and headed towards the door.

Severus positioned himself carefully, making sure to get as close to the man as he could without touching him. Memories were tricky business even in the easiest of conditions, and despite Dolohov’s mind being unguarded and poorly functioning due to his inebriation, Snape wasn’t about to take any chances.

“Whosat? Nobodys supposed to know about this.” Slurring his words, Dolohov made to leave the room, but his body suddenly stiffened. Falling, paralyzed to the floor, the man couldn’t even move his eyes to see the smug expression on Snape’s face as he betrayed him.

Black moved quickly (in his animagus form into the room) shifting his eyes quickly from the immobilized Dolohov and then to the empty form of Hermione. War seemed to rage within the wizard, but eventually his desire to save her outweighed his desire to kill her captor. It was smart of him, Snape begrudgingly noticed, to come in as a dog. If Dolohov did remember anything, it would only be the specter of the grim. 

“I’ll administer the antidote, but I have to warn you, it will be nearly as unpleasant coming out of these nightmares as it was going in.” Sirius nodded his large head, trotting back towards where he’d entered, likely to get his clothes. Approaching Hermione’s unconscious form made Snape feel dirty, remembering only moments ago when Dolohov had stood where he now was and sniffed her hair. 

His heart sank as he realized that there was so much more that could’ve happened if they hadn’t come. Part of him wondered if there was any doubt or fear in her heart for a moment that they wouldn’t be able to save her. They’d never spoken in depth about the scars that adorned her body. In the brief moments when they would interact, it was almost always quietly intellectual. He’d secretly respected that of her, she simultaneously knew more about him than anyone else alive and yet never pried. 

This was the pinnacle of invasion. Snape hadn’t told Sirius, but in order to correctly apply the antidote, he had to go into her mind. It was probably the most invasive thing he could imagine; waltzing around in someone else’s nightmares, but it was the only way. He had to find her inside her own head and bring her out.

With one last look behind him, where Sirius had reentered the room, he looked as if he was going to rush forward. “Don’t.” Snape warned, and a fire flashed across Sirius’s eyes.

“Save her. Do whatever you must for the antidote to work. I won’t….I can’t lose her.” A moment of vulnerability came and went between the two men, and it was likely they would never speak of it again, but with that nod of approval, Snape put his wand to her temple and quietly spoke the incantation.

* * *

Hermione knew three things about whatever it was Dolohov had done to her. One: there was some sort of potion shoved down her throat. Two: it was psychological in nature. Three: this was the worst fucking experience of her life.

After living through Voldemort’s potion from the cave, Bellatrix’s cursed knife and Dolohov’s cursed spell, Hermione thought she’d known pain. She was wrong.

Time seemed to move differently in this place. Logically, Hermione knew she couldn’t have been under for more than 24 hours, but it was like she was reliving a highlight reel of the worst moments of her life on repeat.

Every time it began the same, with her petrification in her second year. Hermione hadn’t been particularly claustrophobic until this moment, but it had really changed her fears. Next was when Harry had arrived back to the final task of the Triwizard Tournament with Cedric’s body. It had been the first time she’d seen a dead body, but it wasn’t the last. The memories grew rapidly more drastic, each crucio and curse radiating through her body like a fresh wound.

It always ended the same way though. Hermione, alone at a graveyard. Her best friend, the first true friend she’d ever had, her constant. Despite all the torture, the scars, the hurt, and the pain, nothing cut her deeper than the seemingly endless void that kept her staring at the grave of the boy who lived.

Every emotion she’d locked away seemed to surface as she desperately tried to escape the inevitability. With every exit from the graveyard, the loop began again; reliving Bellatrix’s knife, Dolohov’s curse, watching Harry die the first time and then inevitably staring at his grave. Numbness began to set into her body as despair filled her heart. 

All the strength she’d held on to for so long had faded away, replaced only by fear and sadness. Was all of this pointless? Would she ever truly be able to save Harry?

Maybe the world would always bring her back here. Maybe she would always end up alone and broken staring at Harry Potter’s grave. 

It was while Hermione was sitting in front of Harry’s grave, contemplating the inevitability of death when she realized she wasn’t alone.

“I can’t save him.” Hermione’s voice squeaked, dry and broken from over-use. The first few cycles of her nightmare had been filled with deep-bodied screams. For the first time since coming to the past, she felt every inch the small, scared little girl she’d been that first time Harry had saved her life.

“It seems rather uncouth for the person I’ve gone through all this trouble to save to have given up.” Snape glanced down to the grass next to where she sat. It had been easy to find her actually, the familiarity of Godric’s Hollow leading him to her. A chill filled the crisp autumn air as the wizard walked towards the graveyard, the grass crunching under his feet.

“Its pointless.” Hermione’s voice shook as she felt tears brim in her eyes again. The sleeve of her dark blue jumper was pulled up, the angry red skin of her scar glinting in the sunset. Snape had never seen it so open, normally she hid it away from the world.

“I’d question your logic, but then you’ve always been too clever for your own good. You know that you don’t truly believe that. You are defined by this moment the way I am by the moment I lost Lily. It is our greatest regret.” Snape deigned himself to sit beside her, the swaths of fabric at the tail of his cloak spreading to protect him from the evening dew. Bitterness overcame her and she nearly wondered aloud which loss, the personal or the permanent.

Hermione didn’t respond though, instead curling her knees up towards her face and looking down into them. 

“Do you know why I chose to follow you?” It was a simple question, asked as if it was so easy it was nearly rhetorical. Hermione just nodded her head, her speech muffled as she spoke into her knees.

“To save Lily.” 

“Yes but I don’t need you for that. In the other world I did it without you. Granted Dumbledore is hardly a better keeper, but why is it that I follow you?” Hermione looked up slowly, her curly hair falling beside her shoulder as red, puffy eyes slowly looked up towards him. 

“I…I don’t know. I’ve tried to protect so many people, but I can’t do it. I can’t save everyone.” She shifts back to her defensive position and much quieter this time, “I couldn’t save him.”

Snape sighed deeply, placing two fingers on the bridge of his nose. “You don’t need to save everyone. You…I can’t believe I’m saying this. You gave me hope.” Embarrassment and anger at having to be so open displayed plainly on his face. If they weren’t locked in Hermione’s unconscious Snape would never have admitted it, but they couldn’t be overheard here. 

“Hope?” Hermione’s voice was spiteful as she spit the word. “People shouldn’t put faith in such a fleeting emotion. My hope died with him.”

She rose slowly, never again meeting Snape’s eyes. “There is a lot I haven’t told you all about. Things that I endured to protect him, to protect a world that has never welcomed me.” Hermione balled her fists, unsteadily making her way towards the small creaking gate at the entrance of the graveyard. 

“Maybe if you see, you’ll understand.” Without another word, she walked through the threshold, disappearing. As she faded, so too did his surroundings, replaced suddenly by the hospital wing at Hogwarts. At first, Snape was unsure why he’d ended up here, until he heard a young man’s voice. 

“Its using the plumbing.” A young, messy-haired boy and a red-head sat in two wooden chairs besides a curly-haired girl who could only be Hermione. Snape withheld a sneer as he understood. This was James Potter’s boy. The other boy had to be a Weasley, they’d just had another hadn’t they? 

Hermione’s child-form laid on the bed unmoving as the boys rushed past, yelling promises to save her.

“They saved Ginny Weasley that night. She had been possessed by a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul.” Understanding filled him as he recalled her story. A diary, His diary. “I couldn’t move. Petrification is a different stillness than being immobilized or stunned. My hand was cramped for weeks after, having been stuck in such an uncomfortable position. All I had was my thoughts and a hope that the basilisk wouldn’t manage to kill anyone. This is the first time I feared I might die.”

Hermione followed the memory as it shifted, now facing the Quidditch pitch filled with screaming students, cheering for their champions. 

“That was the first time that I felt attacked, that I truly experienced the hatred this world has for me and people like me. But this…” Hermione’s brown eyes stared distantly at the blank patch of grass where shortly Harry, bloodied and sweaty, would bring Cedric Diggory’s dead body. “This was the first time I had to deal with the unnecessary losses of war. Cedric and I hadn’t been close, we’d only spoken a handful of times, but he’d died for nothing.”

Snape drew in a sharp breath as he recognized himself in Hermione’s memories. He watched himself, slightly older and gaunter, rush towards the Slytherin students, forcing them back towards the castle. The scenery began to fade away again as the cheers began to fade to screams and cries.

“This is the ministry. You never told me anything about the ministry…the Hall of Prophecies.” Snape knew what this had to be, there was only one prophecy that mattered.

“It was a trap, but we had to come anyway. For Sirius. Harry thought he was in trouble, and he was always so reckless that way. Sirius did end up dying here, but he died saving us.” There was a distance to her voice as she spoke, as if her mind was reliving the moment.

“I suppose Sirius’s death was your traumatic moment.” Snape sneered, slightly disappointed in her that she would let Sirius’s death define her so.

“No.” The way she spoke made it so her voice barely rose above a whisper. Saliva stuck in the back of Severus’s throat as he wondered what could illicit such a reaction from her. This was different from the distress he’d ever seen from her before; this was cold…it felt like death. 

Looking around himself, he noticed that the scenery had changed slightly. Gone were the walls of glass prophecies, and the veil, replaced by a dark room. He saw Hermione, past Hermione that is, while present Hermione watched, her eyes seeming to sink away.

It was Dolohov. That much became clear immediately.

“Trying to upset the Dark Lord’s plan is a dangerous game little mudblood.” None of the ferocity of the woman he’d come to know was evident in the way this girl stood. It wasn’t that she quite shriveled under his gaze, but there was a guard in her stance, a fear in her eyes. The contrast of Dolohov’s signature wolf-like grin with the tremble in Hermione’s fingers as she held her wand defiantly at him was startling.

Even terrified she was quick to aim, quick to understand. She knew she couldn’t beat him in a duel (she certainly could now as a grown witch, but as a child she stood no chance against his perverted evil). Watching her silence him only offered a brief moment of relief as in anger he raised his wand, following through on his spell despite having to shift to nonverbal incantation. 

The moments between the light from Dolohov’s wand hitting Hermione’s chest and her body hitting the floor seemed to last an infinite amount of time. Snape surged forward out of instinct, forgetting for a moment where he was…and why.

“You can’t change it.” Hermione’s voice squeaked, and when Severus turned to face her, for once he noticed a thin, ugly scar just below the curve of her collarbone. Had it always been there? It must have. “This is the first time I nearly died. I thought I would’ve done it happily for Harry, but in that moment…” The scene faded around them and it went unsaid. 

Snape didn’t need to be told how the fear of death creeps in in the darkest moments when the black-robed reaper seems just a small reach away. He’d felt it himself shortly after his graduation from Hogwarts.

When Snape turned back towards the carefully constructed memory inside of Hermione’s mind, he was startled by the familiarity of it. “This is…” He nearly bumped into a figure in her imagination, struggling to make out where she was in this scene.

Cackling filled the air, and all the hair on the back of Snape’s neck stood up. He’d recognize that deluded insanity anywhere. “Bellatrix.” He spat her name like a poison, revealing his lack of fondness for the most devoted follower of the Dark Lord.

“I was…” Hermione’s voice broke for just a moment before she continued. “I was 18. We had been on the run for nearly a year. Snatchers caught us after a stupid fight. Bellatrix thought we’d broken into her vault. She…”

Body language told Snape that it was too painful for her to say, too hard for her to continue, so he simply nodded his head slightly and followed where her eyes led him. He felt the air rush from his lungs when he saw her. Dirt and blood caked her hair, but that wasn’t what froze his blood. No, that was the sound of her screams.

It wasn’t that he was unfamiliar with the singular cadence and tone of a person being tortured within an inch of their life. Snape was ashamed to admit that he’d done it himself on several occasions, either appeasing the Dark Lord or burning through an unplaced rage that seemed to fill the void where his heart should be.

“What is she…” Snape began, realizing only a second too late that the glint of light coming from Bellatrix’s hand must have been her cursed knife.

“This will be a reminder mudblood. That you will never belong to this world. You are nothing. You are no one.” Hermione’s voice joined Bellatrix’s in clear unison as they walked closer to the memory Hermione’s shriveled form. Snape couldn’t even begin to wonder how many times she’d replayed this memory, relived this torment, heard Bellatrix’s words echo in her head.

Of all the decisions he’d ever made in his life, Snape’s prejudice suddenly weighed down on him as the worst. Discomfort filled his body as Hermione’s screams continued and continued until finally they stopped. 

“I passed out at that point. I’d lost so much blood and the cruciatus had taken a lot out of me. If Harry hadn’t saved me, I likely would’ve died there.” The nonchalance in her voice took Snape off-guard, a resignation to despair that no one her age had a right to carry filled her posture.

“There’s just one more. Always one more.” Malfoy Manor began to melt away around him, and his feet squelched above a patch of wet grass. They were back again, to the place where he’d first found her; the grave of the boy who she was trying to save.

“I understand.” Snape’s voice was clear now, muffled only slightly by the gentle breeze blowing. Hermione wondered towards the grave, as if in a trance. With her hand, she pressed against the cold, wet ground, summoning a bouquet of lilies.

“I can’t help but feel that I’ll always end up here. I’ll always be at the grave of someone I couldn’t protect.” Tears began to stream down her cheeks, and Snape realized with a shock that this was the first time he’d ever seen her cry. Vulnerability had never been his strong suit, but in this moment, he knew he had to do something.

“So you’re just going to give up then? Going to run away because its gotten a bit hard. Piss poor excuse for a Gryffindor you are.” Stunned by his harsh words, Hermione turned her face to look at him. The red blotches from her tears only seemed to enhance the puffy redness of her eyes.

“What?” It was an instinctive response, and Snape smirked. The real Hermione, his Hermione, was coming through.

“You put in all this work, travelled a quarter of a century back in time for what? To give up because Dolohov got the best of you. Well I don’t like wasting my time, so don’t make this time be wasted.” Snape held his hand out to her, watching as she chewed her lip. He couldn’t blame her, not after witnessing all the horrid things she’d survived. But the Hermione he knew would never let something as menial as a kidnapping plot spoil her plans.

A moment passed, and then another, and finally Hermione moved her hand towards Snape’s. He helped her up to her feet before gesturing for her to follow him. The landscape of the graveyard began to blur and fade as they walked, and suddenly a bright light blinded both of their visions.


	32. Some Things are Better Left Forgotten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione wakes up to find herself rescued, but what now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey its me again! I'm alive just really busy with work. We're about 2/3 of the way done with this story and oh boy am I excited for whats coming up. What character from the past that I haven't shown do you want to see? Thank you all for sticking with me through this hectic time! And especially thanks to Rotehexe for keeping me from making this story even more angsty. I will be updating when I can but my new job has been keeping me super super busy. But don’t worry I will never abandon this story or you all!

When Hermione woke up, it was to find a concerned looking pair of wizards she never imagined would have been together. “Sirius? Severus?” She spoke weakly, strain in her voice from lack of use.

The two men looked between each other for a brief moment before Sirius broke away. He started about ten feet back from her, the welling of his tears building as he progressed slowly towards her. The air in the room condensed, as if gravity and oxygen were both pulling them together. Unwittingly, Hermione found herself taking weak steps forward until eventually her legs collapsed underneath her from both the strain of her torture and exhaustion. 

She closed her eyes, expecting to be met with the hardness of the creaky, faded wooden floors; but the floor never came. Instead she fell into the hardness of a chest, one she’d dreamt about being held against.

“Never again kitten. Never leave me again.” Sirius’ voice was shallow and shaky as he heaved against her, clutching curls in his hands and pulling her so tightly to himself that for a moment Hermione wondered if she’d stopped breathing. Hot, wet tears finally drained out of her, and she began to sob into Sirius’s embrace. It was the first time since she’d been a teenager that she’d felt so helpless.

“No. Never.” Their embrace seemed the only thing in the world. Discolored walls and chipped paint that had been Hermione’s only backdrop for the last day faded out of her periphery, leaving nothing behind but the beauty of the clouds in Sirius’s eyes. 

Snape cleared his throat then, having allowed for the pseudo-lovers’ joyous reunion. “Not to interrupt this happy moment, but we do still have something to take care of.” Gesturing nonchalantly at Dolohov’s unconscious form, Hermione’s face went blank. The streaks on her face left behind by her sobs shifted in the light as she turned her body to face him. In this and every life, all he’d done was hurt her, cause her pain, smile as she suffered.

“What do you want to do Kitten? I…we’ll do what you want.” Sirius kept his hand perched atop her head, a physical reminder to her that she was safe, that she was loved. 

“Severus.” Hermione’s voice was crisp despite the quiet of it. Cutting through the silence that had engulfed them, she rose to her feet shakily with Sirius’s help. “Still consider yourself skilled in memory charms?”

Snape simply nodded his head, his ever-present sneer not shifting at all as he began to roll up the sleeves of his robes. Memory charms were tricky business, and doing one incorrectly would be a fate worse than death for someone as Gilderoy Lockhart could attest. Or not. Hermione imagined that he’d never go to the chamber, never teach at Hogwarts. How would his life be impacted by her choices? By her selfishness.

“Okay let’s stop whatever spiraling is going on there pet.” Sirius’s warm, large hands framed her face, forcing her to look at him and nothing but him. “You’re here with me. You’re safe. I’ll never leave you again. I promise. No one will ever hurt you again.”

For the first time since she’d entered Knockturn Alley two days before, Hermione didn’t feel afraid. She’d been strong on her own for so long that having this unconditional support overwhelmed her. 

“How do you want this done? Although I still think we should kill him and leave him here to rot.” Severus walked towards Dolohov, pulling the unconscious man’s head up by the hair and scowling at him.

“Erase everything from me. Any memory of who I am, what I’m doing. Take it all away.” Hermione made a small step forward. “But I am going to leave him with one last special gift, from me.”

Fear didn’t often overtake Severus. In his circles, there was little room for being afraid. He had seen the horrors of humanity; the very peak of what cruelty and evil could look like and yet as Hermione shifted her feet forward, the blankness of her eyes coupled with her dark smile struck fear into his heart. 

Whatever incantation she used, neither of the men had ever heard it before, watching in terror as Dolohov’s face broke out into hundreds of blisters and boils grew. A deranged look overcame Hermione as she knelt down at Dolohov’s side. Just loud enough that Sirius could barely make it out, she whispered one thing in his ear… “Now you’re as ugly on the outside as you are within.”

The wooden floor creaked under the weight of her steps as she wandered towards the floo. Sirius and Severus shared a brief glance of understanding as the animagus followed after her. They didn’t speak after the floo fire roared to life until they were inside Hermione’s home. She moved through the house as if fueled solely by power of will. Fully clothed, she collapsed into the warmth and comfort of her bed, having only slept briefly and on a hard-wooden floor in her prison.

Sirius followed quietly after, taking off her shoes and brushing her hair out of her face. Pulling back the sheets, he tucked her into the bed as her eyes fluttered. She had spent most of the past day unconscious in a sleep-like state but all of the energy in her body was gone. Exhaustion and pain surrounded her as she lolled off.

Pulling the old rocking chair from the corner next to the bed, Sirius watched over her as she fell asleep. He held her hand tightly and rubbed it with his thumb, reminding himself of that night at Frank Longbottom’s birthday. When he was young he’d always wondered about who he would end up falling in love with. Then there was the time when he had given up on ever being loved. And then there was her.

When her breathing slowed, he started to move away, but was stopped by her grip tightening.

“Stay.” Sleep in her voice and her eyes closed, Sirius felt a pressure in his chest as he looked at her. She was so small in that moment, and yet it was like she was the only thing that existed in the world.

“Okay.” He choked out, placing his lips against the back of her hand. “But only as long as you promise to stop nearly dying on me pet.” 

Incoherent mumbling proved to him that she was already falling back asleep, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. Hermione’s breathing evened out once more. Sirius felt his own exhaustion creep up from his fingertips through his chest and up to his eyes. 

As he lost his battle with consciousness, he finally whispered what he’d been holding inside ever since she came and sat on those steps with him. “I…love…”

* * *

“And what do you have to say about this situation?” Remus’s voice carried throughout Sirius’s flat as Lucius sipped his tea out of a teacup he’d transfigured. They’d had the argument about the state of the Black Brother’s dishes one too many times and finally a compromise had been found that allowed Lucius to be smug and pretentious but alive.

“Well we have every horcrux except for the cup.” Lucius’s eyes were closed, and his voice calm as he spoke. Sirius rolled his eyes but said nothing, which Hermione noted as a sign of extreme growth on his part. He only threatened the pureblooded wizard twice in this meeting which was ten less than normal.

“Yes. Everyone here is aware. I mean the Lestrange vault situation. We have the venom, we have the ring, we have the diary, and the locket. All we need is the cup and then…” An uncomfortable silence fell over the room as the rest went unsaid. They never talked about it. They never spoke about the next part, about what would happen after…after Voldemort was mortal.

“Bellatrix is not some simpleton like Dolohov. She is cruel and intelligent. If she grows suspicious of me at any moment we will never live to see tomorrow.” He scowled at the fact. Hermione knew from Draco that Lucius had always hated Bellatrix. The crazed witch was powerful beyond reason because she was so unhinged. When anything is on the table, there is no way to prepare for the worst.

“She responded very negatively when I mentioned visiting the vault, so we know the cup is there.” It was the one uncertainty of Hermione’s timeline. She knew Bellatrix had it by the time they were searching in 1998, but there was no way of knowing when it had been placed there.

Even as the dull ache settled in her bones of a cruciatus aftershock, Hermione knew she was close, closer than she’d planned on in this moment. If she could get all of the horcruxes before Harry was born…

Her wandering mind was called back by a clearing of a throat, harsher than she expected to hear during this relatively civil conversation. 

“If we rely on Bellatrix being in a good mood we might as well surrender ourselves to the Dark Lord now. We need to force her hand, or break in.” A tension swam in the air as Regulus spoke, the annoyance in his voice matched by the truth of his words. It was pointless to wait for Bellatrix to slip up, they needed to take more drastic action.

“We can’t break in. Or at least I can’t. There’s a waterfall inside that removes any enchantments so the imperius curse and Polyjuice won’t work either.” Hermione’s voice was clipped as she spoke, remembering none too fondly her last disastrous attempt at breaking into Gringotts. 

“Do I even want to ask how you know the inner machinations of the Gringott’s security measures?” Lucius asked, his normally cool tone only slightly cut with intrigue; it was a subtle change, and one Hermione doubted someone who had not know Lucius for two lifetimes would notice. He did want to know.

“It involves a dragon and bad acting. Maybe I’ll tell it one day when this all is over. What we need to do is trick her into taking you in her vault. Sirius, you know her best, how do we get under her skin?”

Sirius, who had been lounging on the chaise, picking at the underneath of his fingernails with a knife, clearly did not expect to be called on. His empty expression that had been fixed on his handiwork now turned to chastised irritation as he sat up. He didn’t like looking like a fool in front of Lucius, but then it was his own fault for daydreaming during the meeting.

“I am somewhat of an expert in antagonizing her. When I was young, when I wanted her to do something that she didn’t want to do, I would just tell her that Andromeda would’ve done it for me. It boiled her blood, having her older sister be so different from her. Even now that Dromeda isn’t part of the family, she’ll hate that.” Sirius’s corners quirked up into the slimmest shadow of a smile, and Hermione wondered for a moment what memory was playing in his mind. There was an awkwardness within their movements now that they hadn’t been able to shake. Something about the shame Hermione felt for being captured kept her from truly looking him in the eye.

“I highly doubt Andromeda would have the same effect now. It has been nearly 10 years since she was banished from the Black line. Ever since she ran away with that…” Lucius paused just a moment before the word left his lips. It was habit, Hermione knew, but she raised an angry eyebrow anyway.

“Go ahead Lucius. Say precisely what you meant to. Don’t stop your bigotry at my expense.” Hermione stood abruptly, mumbling something about needing air before she walked out to the small balcony Sirius had enchanted onto his flat. The concrete held only a small table and a single chair, metal with a simple design. Clouds blocked much of the sun, leaving the chill of early spring to seep into her bones.

It would be easy enough to cast a warming charm, but perhaps the cool wind would calm her temper. Nothing was good enough. Everything she did to make the wizarding world a safer, more tolerant place was only temporary, only laying on the surface. Lucius Malfoy was helping her out of protection for his family, not because he suddenly believed that muggles weren’t sullen creatures to be squashed under his over-priced dragon-hide boots. 

Yet there was nothing more she could do. A world without Voldemort was well worth whatever sacrifices she had to make, but saving a world that would never truly accept her…it was a hard price to pay.

“Men like Lucius will never change.” Regulus’s haughty voice cut into her thoughts, the tall man joining her on the now too-crowded balcony. The closeness didn’t seem to bother either of them though, and Hermione’s mind drifted back to the last time they’d been this close…the time he’d kissed her.

Heat flushed her cheeks, its creeping warmth wrapping around her neck and up into her face before she could turn away.

“I belong here.” She insisted, her tone defensive. Hermione hated this, hated having to justify herself. She was a fantastic witch. Not a fantastic witch for a muggleborn. 

“No one is saying you don’t.” Its naïve of him, and they both know the moment the words leave his lips that they’re false. As long as there is a wizarding world, there will be those who deem muggleborns unfit to exist within it. People like the Malfoys and their pureblooded pompous friends.

“Prove them wrong.” He offers, watching as a shiver travels down her spine; the cold is chilling her more than she expected. Removing his outer robe, he places it on her shoulders, and she notes just how warm it is. She nearly shrugs it off before another cool breeze cuts into her cheeks.

“I shouldn’t have to.” Hermione grumbled, rearranging the large fabric to cross it over her chest. “When has anyone ever made you prove that you belong in this world. I may not have the breeding or in-bred ancestry to be a pureblood, but I am just as much a part of this world. Whether people like Tom Riddle believe it or not.” 

Voldemort’s true name spat from her tongue like a poison, and Regulus flinched slightly at the overly familiar way she spoke it. Even though he’d renounced the Death Eaters and agreed to help her, there was still a respect in the way he referred to the man. The Dark Lord. What a joke.

“You’re right. Maybe…when all this is over, things will be different.” Hermione closes her eyes as Regulus speaks, biting back a snarky chuckle. She lived in that world, the world with Voldemort. A world where Harry had to pull strings to get her accepted into the Department of Mysteries, a world where she still got sideways glances when she shopped and whispers of mudblood when she walked in the streets.

As it always did when she was anxious about this particular situation, her hand drifted towards the scar on her arm. “Yeah…maybe.”

* * *

“I just don’t see why I have to go.” Hermione pouted to Remus. The werewolf, a little tired from the full moon but bearing none of the physical scars that used to be commonplace before Hermione began brewing him wolfsbane, sat in one of the large lounge chairs in Hermione’s parlor. 

It was Peter Pettigrew’s birthday, and she had no more desire to celebrate his birth than Lord Voldemort’s.

“Because if Peter suspects you for any reason and tells You-Know-Who, we all die.” His voice was exasperated, his exhaustion and irritation at the circle of conversation they’d created wearing thin on his patience. 

“I…” Hermione began, but taking a deep breath she sighed. He was right and she hated that about him. She’d managed to only see Peter a handful of times since Lily had announced her pregnancy, the reminder of his imminent betrayal of their trust making her go through unrestricted bouts of blind rage.

“Fine. But if I hex him its your fault.” Lupin shot her a half smile, his lips curling up just enough to show off some of his too-sharp teeth. He was so handsome when he smiled, and Hermione found joy in the fact that if she succeeded, he would have many more years to smile.

“Noted.” Remus was much taller than her, which Hermione only really noted when they walked side by side. His strides out marked hers by a wide margin, causing her to speed up to keep pace with him. The short walk to Potter Cottage was crisp but with a warm breeze, the first signs of spring carrying the scent of tulips and gardenias.

The Potters never did quite throw a party halfway, streamers draped from the ceiling as they entered through the front door. A haphazardly put together birthday banner in James’ messy scrawl hung over the fireplace. Scents of firewhiskey, elf wine and butterbeer along with whatever sweet thing James was baking filled the air and Hermione forgot for one moment her annoyance at having to be in attendance. 

Peter, his round, rodent-like face looking so slapable as Hermione approached him with her sickly-sweet false smile and insincere birthday congratulations, seemed to have no idea of the ill-will several of the people here felt for him. 

Lily sat on the sofa in front of their floo as James flitted around in an apron checking on guests, refilling snack bowls and doting on his pregnant wife. Hermione sat next to her after she’d done her round of hellos, drinking in her friend’s mirth.

“It feels like its been ages since I’ve seen you.” Lily whined, her wide green eyes looking hungrily at Hermione’s plate of appetizers.

“Go ahead and take some. I assumed you might try to steal mine, so I grabbed extra.” With muttered words of praise to Hermione’s grace and kindness, Lily grabbed a cracker and some of the cheese on the plate.

They sat in a contented silence for a while as they munched on the snacks, Lily leaning her head against Hermione’s shoulders. She had started showing, a definitive roundness easily identifying her as pregnant. Everytime Hermione looked at her, love and longing filled her eyes. Followed quickly by guilt. It was so ever-present now that she easily swallowed it down. It wasn’t gone, but she could ignore until she got home; and then she could cry herself to sleep like she did every night.

“Oh!” Lily called suddenly, and Hermione’s hand flew to her wand. “He’s kicking, here feel.” The redhead insisted, guiding Hermione’s free hand towards her stomach. A moment passed and then Hermione felt a push against her fingers.

“Does he do that to you often?” Hermione wondered mindlessly, imagining what that must be like.

“Little bugger moves around like he’s playing Quidditch. James says he’s going to be a chaser like him but based on his kicking, speed is more gonna be his play. Seeker all the way I say.” It was strange to see Lily speak about Harry’s future, a future that Hermione was trying to ensure. 

A smile spread across Hermione’s face, and they returned to their content cuddling on the couch until a few minutes later when Sirius and James stopped by to check on Lily and ensure her that the small explosion she heard just before was nothing to be concerned about and that James had ‘never liked that birdbath anyway.’ 

Hermione focused herself, as she always did around Sirius to stay neutral, to not betray the fondness she felt for him. Lily finished her brief chastising, rising so she could properly tell them off before returning to a seated position with a grunt.

“I sometimes wonder if I’m ready to be a mother and then I remember that I look after those two well enough.” Lily’s gaze shoots to where James and Sirius are now being admonished by Remus while Peter eats some of the carrot cake the dark-haired wizard had prepared for him.

“You’ll be a great mum.” Hermione’s voice is full of promise and Lily gives her a nervous smile. They never talk about the real reason for worry, about the war. Perhaps Lily thinks that if they don’t bring it up it won’t be real. That none of the danger that they all face everyday will effect this little bubble of domestic life James and Lily have carved out for themselves. 

“Hermione…” Lily’s voice is nervous when she speaks, which is alarming considering the normally bubbly nature of the witch. “I’ve had a chat with James and we…we want you to be his godmother.”

Hermione’s mouth falls open in shock as the words Lily has just spoken settle into her brain. “Godmother?” This wasn’t how this was supposed to happen. It was supposed to be Alice. Godmother means…that should she fail, should Lily and James die anyway after all of this, Harry would be hers. Well hers and Sirius’s.

“I…Of course. Yes. Are you sure? Shouldn’t it be Alice?” Alice Longbottom had been Harry’s Godmother the first time around, and Lily had been Neville’s.

“Oh Ali will be busy enough with her own little one. I know we haven’t known each other for a long time, but you’ve become like a sister to me this past year. More of a sister to me than Petunia has ever been anyway. Our runs, our Friday night dinners, watching you become a part of our family, I’ve loved every moment of it. Please Hermione I know that you’ll be a wonderful godmother. Plus you know that Sirius is bound to give the child too many sweets and someone needs to give him a good smack every once in a while.” Lily looks so sure, so confident in her in that moment that Hermione feels the sting of happy tears in her eyes.

“Then yes. I’d love to be his godmother.”


End file.
